Title: Neon - The Collector's Edition
Authors: Cheryl Cohen & Annie Reed

Summary: Each story in the series is different but they all link together to chronicle the ever changing lives of Mulder and Scully.

Cheryl got to do the last forward, so I'm doing this one. ;) We came up with the idea for this story about halfway through "Sanctuary," our third joint-writing project. I had an idea for a story set in my home town and I told it to Cheryl. She put her own unique twist on it and "Neon" was born.

Some of the locations in this story are real, others are purely fictional and included just to move the story along. The Fallon Naval Air Station is the new home for the Navy's Top Gun fighter school.

Annie, you didn't think I'd let you have the Whole forward did you? This thing has taken over a year to complete and I just had to open my mouth at least once. Well, we've got a little bit of everything in this one. Intrigue, angst, sex, humor, sex, violence, sex, conspiracies, aliens, sex..Pictures (some of these are NC17 too I guess) All right, I have a one tract mind so sue me. On second thought, Chris?? I really don't have any money so if you did sue me, all you'd have to look forward to is a slightly abused Dodge pick up truck -- hardly worth the effort --right? Oh and I suppose you'd have to rate this little tale NC17 for all the good stuff we're not supposed to like. Enjoy!

This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. As such, the characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright infringements are intended.

Chapter 1 - Discovery

Four months ago
Fallon Naval Air Station
Fallon, Nevada

Scott Simons adjusted the controls of the electron microscope carefully, trying to bring the delicate crystalline structure inside the machine into focus. He was almost there when he heard the roar and felt the shaking begin. "Oh, no, not again!" he groaned, bracing himself for the inevitable sonic boom. Even though it was somewhat muffled by the dirt surrounding the walls of his bunker turned laboratory, the boom still made the walls vibrate and the equipment rattle. Scott turned glaring eyes heavenward, almost seeing in his mind the Navy fighter jets that had just buzzed this part of the base at better than Mach 1. What he saw instead was a fine cloud of dust shifting in through the cracks in the ceiling. How the hell he was expected to keep anything close to a clean room under these conditions was beyond him.

When the noise had faded and rattling stopped, Scott turned dejected eyes back toward the microscope. He already knew what he would find, but he had to look just to make sure. "Goddamn it," he breathed as he peered at the crystal, its structure shattered and useless.

"Having problems?" a dry voice asked from the far end of the room.

Scott knew who it was before he even turned around. The smell of cigarettes that accompanied this man wherever he went was a dead giveaway. It looked like his complaints had finally made it through to someone who actually had some clout. Maybe now things would change.

"It's about goddamn time," Scott said as he turned to face the man. "And put that damn thing out," he added, pointing to the cigarette dangling from the man's right hand. "You have any idea how much cigarette smoke can screw up this equipment?"

The man complied, but slowly, making sure Scott knew exactly who was in charge here. "Your reports would seem to indicate that things are already 'screwed up'," he commented.

Something about the man's tone put Scott on the defensive. He didn't like being on the defensive. "Yeah, you're right, they are screwed up. And they're gonna stay that way until I can get some peace and quiet around here. This morning's little fly-by cost me a month's worth of prep time. I'll have to start the whole damn thing over again. And this isn't the first time it's happened. Oh, no, not by a long shot. I don't know how the hell you expect me to get anything done working under conditions like this."

"There are worse conditions," the man replied. "The Brazilian rain forest comes to mind."

"I'm not a toxicologist and you know it," Scott snapped, "so don't go threatening me with transfer to some infernal jungle. I thought you took care of your people. That was in the recruitment speech, wasn't it?"

"We recruited you for results, not complaints and excuses. Your work was impeccable up until 6 months ago. I'm here to inform you that your work needs to be impeccable again."

"Or what? You gonna fire me?" Scott asked. If he hadn't been so angry, he might have noticed the ominous tone of the man's voice and not made that remark. But Scott was seeing red and didn't stop to consider the implications of what he said.

"Firing is not an option," the man replied. "I thought that was made clear, as well, during 'recruitment', as you call it."

That did get through to Scott. He sat back down on his lab stool, some of the color draining from his face. "If you want results, you've got to do something about these conditions," he insisted. "It's not reasonable to expect me to produce my best work when my experiments are constantly being ruined. If you can't move them, move me someplace suitable."

"That is not an option, either," the man replied. Scott watched as he took the soft pack of Morleys out of his jacket pocket and pulled one loose. He made no move to light it, so Scott figured he was only using it for effect, maybe another form of intimation, another reminder that Scott worked for him, not the other way around. Or maybe this asshole just thought better with a cigarette in his hand. "Money's tight everywhere, Dr. Simons," the man continued as he fingered the unlit cigarette. "Even for us. No money to move you, no money for staff, and... " he paused and looked directly into the scientist's eyes, "no money for raises, either."

Scott hadn't had a raise in more than five years, and on hearing that last little bit of news, he exploded off his stool. "Great! Oh, just great! 'Come work with us, unlock the secrets of the universe, and you'll be rewarded handsomely for your efforts,'" he said, mimicking the recruitment speech he'd been given, all caution thrown to the wind now. "Yeah, right. Some rewards. Stuck out in the middle of the goddamn Nevada desert. It was bad enough when it was just a sleepy little air station, but no, we have to make it even worse. Guess what, Dr. Simons, Congress is moving the Top Gun school here. We can't upset all those hot shot pilots, so you'll just have to adjust your schedule. Work around the construction, and the noise, and all the additional personnel. Don't let anyone see you. Remember, you're not 'regular' military. No one knows what you really do." Scott turned and hurled his stool at the far wall. It clattered to the floor to the floor, breaking surprisingly few bottles, jars, and instruments on its way down.

"Yeah, and no one cares, either. Maybe I should just chuck the whole thing and sell what I know to the highest bidder. Bet somebody would care then."

Scott's visitor simply stood and let him work out his frustration. Scott knew it probably wasn't the first time in his long and varied career as arbiter of what the public did and did not need to know that he'd listened to someone vent their anger at the system, and he had no grand illusions that his temper tantrum was going to get him what he wanted. But he'd be damned if he'd just bend over and take it like a good little boy while they reamed him once again. Oh, no, not this time.

"That would not be a wise idea," the man finally said, his eyes narrowing as he lit up the cigarette while Scott glowered at him. "No one's indispensable.

Not you, not even me. I'd keep that in mind if I were you." Scott narrowed his eyes. "Is that a threat?" he asked quietly.

"We don't threaten. We don't have to," the man replied, taking a long, slow drag on the cigarette, making a show of blowing smoke in the direction of the stool Scott had thrown. "Why don't you take some time off to think it over. Get your priorities straight."

"Sounds like a great idea to me," Scott said, stomping past the man on his way to the door.

"Without pay, of course," the man added as Scott reached the door. Scott's shoulders stiffened as the words sunk in, but after an almost imperceptible pause, the scientist just kept on walking.

The smoking man turned and surveyed the lab. It would make no difference if Dr. Scott Simons decided to take a few weeks or even a few months off.

The work here was important, but in reality it just served as backup to the work that was taking place elsewhere in the vast wasteland of the Nevada desert. Eventually Dr. Simons would be back, he was sure of it. This particular scientist was a mercenary at heart, even if he wielded a microscope instead of a machine gun. Complain as he might about the pay, it was still better that what he could make in the private sector. And as soon as it sunk in that resignation from this particular job had fatal consequences, Dr. Simons would come running back. Taking one last drag on his cigarette, he dropped it on the floor and crushed it under the heel of his black, rubber soled shoe. Turning off the lights, he locked the door to the lab on his way out.

Highway 50
between Fallon and Fernley, Nevada

Goddamn Navy hotshot flyboys! Scott cursed as another Top Gun pilot out on maneuvers raced over the two lane highway, drowning out the sound from his custom car stereo. Hands tightening on the wheel of his metallic green Range Rover, Scott pushed the speedometer up from 85 toward 90.

There was no one else on the road and his radar detector was silent, so what the hell. Blow off a little steam, son, he told himself. You certainly deserve it.

The Nevada desert flew by his window, a blur of dried out green sagebrush, chalky white alkali flats, and sun-baked brown desert soil.

Fallon was behind him and Fernley was on the other side of the horizon, just another small desert town on the way to Reno and his forced leave of absence. Shit!

Reno. It wasn't even his home anymore, but he'd been too tired and angry to think of anything beyond just getting off the base, so he'd headed almost instinctively toward Reno. Once he got to his parents' house, he'd decide what else to do with all this free time he suddenly had on his hands. Maybe he'd try gambling. Or maybe he'd go on a cruise.

Scott wasn't sure why he'd kept his parents' house after they died. Surely not out of sentimental value, and certainly not because he expected to make a mint off of it one day. An old brick home built in the 40's, its one saving grace, at least to Scott's eyes, was the full basement that he'd slowly built into his own private lab. He wondered if his neighbors, mostly high-priced lawyers who'd converted the neighboring houses to law offices, knew exactly what he did in his basement lab, or what they'd say if they knew that a few of the compounds he kept there, if combined in the right order, could blow their law practices right off the face of the earth. Bet they probably wouldn't spend so much time complaining about the safety problems caused by the transients who strolled the neighborhood on their way from one riverside campground to anot her "Shit!" Scott muttered out loud as another fighter buzzed the road. He tried not to take it personally -- he was sure they didn't know it was him in the Ranger Rover -- but it was a losing battle. Someone up there must have decided that he was 'it' in an airborne game of tag. Whatever the reason, all these fly-bys weren't helping him relax, not in the least.

He was so upset that he almost didn't see it. At first it looked like road glare reflecting off his windshield, but it was in the wrong place. Scott eased up on the gas and took a closer look. No, it wasn't a reflection, but something out in the desert beyond the glass. Just sitting there low in the sky. A light, where there shouldn't have been one. Scott braked hard, thankful that there was no one behind him to plow into him at highway speeds, and pulled off the side of the road. The Rover's tires bit into the desert sand without any difficulty and Scott turned the car around to get a good look at the irregularly shaped light floating out over the desert sand.

Even as his conscious mind rejected the thought, Scott knew what it was.

It was one of them. Just sitting there, watching. But watching what? The jets? Maybe they're just as curious about us as we are about them, he thought.

Jet wash shook the Rover as another pilot buzzed the highway, this dive the closest yet. The pilot's course took him directly toward the floating light. Scott expected the craft to make a high speed getaway, breaking all the rules of physics in a rapid retreat from the earth's gravity, so he was astonished at what happened next. Instead of moving away from the jet, the light moved toward it, almost on a collision course, and backed away only at the last possible split-second. The Navy pilot didn't react in the least to the light, but continued on his course out over the desert floor. What the hell? Didn't he see the damn thing? Scott wondered. Then the jet wash caught the floating light and sent it careening toward the desert floor.

Instinct took over. Scott turned the Rover in the direction of the light and hit the gas. He tried to keep one eye on the last spot he'd seen the spinning light and one eye on the uneven desert terrain in front of him. His Range Rover was an outstanding off-road vehicle, but even a Rover could break an axle if you hit a boulder just right.

The craft had been out of control, he knew it. Somehow, whoever or whatever was commanding that floating light had lost control when the jet wash caught it, maybe even before then. After working with this stuff for the last nine years, Scott had begun to think of the beings that created this technology as infallible. It was somewhat comforting to know that they could screw up, too.

Scott had expected an explosion, or at the very least a cloud of dust and debris when the craft hit. Nothing. He finally spotted the wreckage only by noticing a clump of sagebrush sitting up higher than its neighbors. Slowing the Rover to a crawl, Scott noticed the short burrow dug in the desert sand by the alien craft when it impacted with the earth. The craft had effectively covered itself with the desert terrain after the crash, blending in with its surroundings. He wondered if it was designed to do that.

Stopping the Rover, Scott opened the door and got out cautiously, looking overhead for the Navy jets but they were long gone, maneuvers apparently over for the day. Good, that means no one's looking for this thing, Scott thought. Or at least no humans are looking for it.

He approached the craft cautiously, ready to split at the first indications of anything still alive in there. He wasn't about to take the brunt of alien ire for being forced down out of the sky, no siree. But the craft remained ominous still.

Finally he was within just a foot of the trailing edge of the ship. All at once it occurred to him that the ship wasn't hot. It should have been hot. After all, it just fell from the sky at a pretty good rate. All that friction energy should have translated to heat. In fact, the dry weeds and brush around it should have caught fire, but they didn't. "Non-conducting metal," Scott murmured. One of the first things he'd worked on at the base was attempting to analyze and then recreate the formula for a sample of non-conducting metal provided to him. No one would tell him where it came from -- just analyze it and tell us how to make more. He never had been able to duplicate it. Came close a few times, but never the exact formula. Now he had a good idea where the original sample came from. If he could just get a little more off this ship, he knew sooner or later he could come up with the formula. In the back of his mind he wondered how much Nasa would pay to not have to worry about the damn ceramic tiles that kept falling off the space shuttle. Replace them with a little of this stuff and the ride home would be a breeze.

Scott stretched out a cautious hand toward the ship, still not quite believing that he wouldn't get burned, but his hand encountered nothing but a cool, smooth surface. There were no breaks in the exposed surface of the craft, no seams or rivets, nothing to show him how to get inside, if he even wanted to get inside, that is. "How the heck do you open this thing?" he asked out loud, his hand still resting on the surface.

He yelped in surprise as an opening appeared directly under his hand. Scott didn't realize he had been leaning on that hand until too late. The resistance holding him up was suddenly gone, and Scott found himself tumbling head over heels into the interior of the craft.

Once inside it took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior after the desert brightness. The first thing he noticed was that there was no one in this craft. Remote control? he speculated. Maybe something jammed the signal, that's why it went haywire. At least no one was holding a laser pistol on him, ready to take their revenge on the first earthling they saw. Scott let out a ragged breath and started to relax a little. But his relaxation was short-lived. He cried out in surprise again when the opening he'd just tumbled through abruptly closed, sealing him inside the ship.

Elsewhere....They had been here too long, that was all there was to it. Instead of merely observing these beings, they had begun acting like them, taking unnecessary risks. And now the prototype was lost.

A butt-chewing is a butt-chewing, no matter where that particular part of the anatomy happened to be located on the entity being chewed. The prototype must be retrieved, no matter what. The beings they were observing were too primitive, too violent to be entrusted with technology that could do what the prototype could. Besides, the prototype had been damaged and was unstable and the Stars only knew what it would do now.

Exactly how they were supposed to retrieve it had not been explained, at least not exactly. But retrieve it they must or they would not be allowed to return to the collective. There were many delightful aspects of life among the primitives, but they had no desire to be permanently marooned on this one tiny world. The prototype had to be found and returned to where it belonged so that the harmonics of the collective would once more be in tune. They turned their thoughts inward, calling upon the Stars to guide them in their endeavor, just as the collective had done for a millennia before them and just as it would do until the end of time.

Scott had never been this scared in all his life. Sure, he wanted to make a buck as much as the next man, maybe more, but even an idiot knew that all the money in the world wouldn't do you any good if you weren't alive to spend it. He wondered briefly what the beings who built this ship used for currency. With his luck it would be body parts, probably extremely personal, extremely human body parts, which they would harvest from him one at a time. He shuddered, feeling certain portions of his anatomy trying to crawl back up inside him. Been watching too many Twilight Zone repeats, he told himself, but it didn't help.

After god only knows how long, Scott finally decided that the ship wasn't going to take off with him inside. Unless it already has> the annoying voice of his mother piped up inside his head. "Shut up," Scott muttered.

And the world was suddenly silent.

Not that it has been noisy before, not exactly. But there had been background noises in the tiny ship, difficult to identify, but they were there.

He'd said 'shut up' and the noises were gone.

You're a scientist, let's try an experiment. "Lights," Scott said, and then had to snap his eyes shut tight against the blinding light that erupted from the walls around him. Covering his eyes with both hands, he gasped out the word "dimmer" and the light muted into a more tolerable level. Opening his eyes, he peered around him, trying to find a light source, but as far as he could tell, the walls themselves were glowing. At his command... imagine that.

Placing his hand on the wall of the ship, at approximately the same place as he'd tumbled through, Scott tried the ultimate test. "Open," he said. A doorway immediately appeared in the side of the ship, big enough for Scott to climb through. He nearly jumped up and down in delight. Talk about having your own genie in a bottle! Hey, that gave him an idea. "Money," he said, half expecting to have his dick, or someone else's, handed to him.

Nothing. Not even a lousy penny. These guys must not understand that concept -- talk about alien! Shit, he thought.

The smell assaulted him first, although he knew what it was before he even turned around and stared at the brown pile on the floor behind him. He hadn't even said the word, just thought it! This was amazing. I want that gone, he thought, and watched it shimmer out of existence.

His mind churned faster than he could ever remember. Commands, it understands commands, even if they're not spoken, so it must be able to pick up on brain waves or some such thing. And for some reason it thinks I'm in charge. Oh, boy. Better watch what you wish for, old buddy, he told himself. Ok, the first thing is to find out how it works, which meant he'd have to run some tests on it, find out what it could do. There had to be a brain in here somewhere, something that ran the show. He'd worked with enough other-worldly objects in the last nine years that he had no doubts that he'd eventually figure out the basic construction. The computer, for lack of a better word, that made all these things happen had to be around here someplace. Maybe he could get the thing to show him, then he could detach it and take it home with him.

Scott practically sprinted to the Rover to get his tool kit. Maybe he could put this leave of absence to good use. He could take some time and get to know his new friend here. There was no telling where this would take him.

All of a sudden this wasn't looking like such a bad day after all.

Two Months Later
Security Office, Second Floor
Red Sands Hotel and Casino, Reno, Nevada

Yes!!! Scott's mind yelped with glee. He tried hard to remind himself that bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet wasn't exactly executive behavior, but he couldn't help it. After two months of exhaustive research and failed experiments, he'd finally figured out how to use this confiscated alien technology to his advantage... at least one aspect of it anyway.

Reno, the town of Scott's birth, is a gambling town. Sure, for as long as he could remember the city fathers had preached about its diversified economy, the recreational opportunities available in the nearby Sierra Nevada Mountains and special events full of family-oriented fun, but Scott knew that its heart and soul were the casinos that filled the downtown core of the city. Not as large and gaudy as Las Vegas to the south, Reno was nonetheless filled with grand casinos with even more impressive amounts of cash changing hands 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. All that cash in such a relatively small place attracted those who thought they were lucky, as well as those who figured luck could use a little help. It had also attracted Scott.

And now, thanks to some unknown planet hopper's galactic goof, a good portion of that loot was going to be floating in his direction for a change.

Knowing he couldn't exactly sell this technology on the open market without fear of fatal retribution, Scott opted to put his new discovery to use in a more conventional environment, hoping to make some quick money without attracting the wrong kind of attention. He didn't dare take it to Las Vegas, even though he might be able to peddle it for a little more there. Getting on the wrong side of some of the movers and shakers in Vegas was just as bad as getting on the wrong side of the people he normally worked for, and Scott figured he had more than enough people to watch out for. So he'd done some smooth talking and gotten an appointment with the Operations Manager at the Red Sands Hotel and Casino. From there, he'd done a presentation to the CEO and Board of Directors at a special meeting called for the express purpose of demonstrating his new state of the art, space age if they only knew, co mputerized security system.

The heart, or rather, brain of his system was no larger than a good-sized apple and more closely resembled living tissue than inanimate electronic circuitry. But he didn't have to explain that to the suits and they didn't want to hear about it anyway. Their only concern was whether it worked and how much money it would save them.

Granted, Reno was already over-flowing with complicated security systems and the Operations Manager had initially been skeptical. But this town forget that -- this world had never seen anything of the likes of which he had to offer and it hadn't taken much to sell them on the system. The artificial intelligence that had been on that ship was so close to the real thing that it nearly qualified as a life-form in its own right. Scott had worked on artificial intelligence projects in the past, developing computers which embraced the first rudimentary capabilities of independent thought, but this system was light years ahead of anything that had gone before.

Not only did his computer, for lack of a better term, think independently, it also possessed the ability to convert electrical brain wave activity into tangible and understandable patterns. In simple English, it could read thoughts. This singular attribute alone made the system invaluable to casino owners trying to prevent patrons from walking out the door with more than their honest share of the casino's cash flow. The brains of the system knew the intent of all those it watched through the existing security cameras that constantly scanned the gaming floor, and not only could it spot someone who intended to cheat, it was able to immediately identify the methodology used. Then the system notified the floor guards, who could then apprehend those who would tamper with equipment or covertly cheat at the games before they could escape undetected with their ill-gotten gains.

Of course, Scott didn't tell the casino bigwigs exactly how the machine worked. One look at the faces in the board room convinced him that these men were smart enough to know that if his machine could read the minds of anyone on the gaming floor, it could read their minds, too. And some people, especially those who made their livelihood in the gaming industry, wouldn't think too kindly of something that could read their thoughts. So Scott had decided early in his presentation to gloss over the how and why of his system and just concentrate on the results, and that decision had paid off in spades, as they say.

One other aspect of this machine intrigued Scott, challenged his intellect to new heights. This technology apparently had the unbelievable ability to alter the molecular configuration of matter, which could hypothetically allow the security computer to reach out and touch, so to speak, the culprit, effectively detaining him or her until the security could escort them out or the authorities could remove them. This was the same feature that had provided light and other less preferable substances in the spaceship where Scott had discovered the machine. He had considered including this feature in his presentation as a last ditch effort to convince his prospective client of his system's viability. Never mind the small insignificant fact that although he knew how to use this molecular morphing technology, he hadn't the faintest idea of exactly how it worked. So far, it only obeyed his thoughts, he'd discovered with relief, and he was optimistically certain that in time he would be able to unravel that mystery as well. But upon reading the moods of the men crowded in the boardroom, he'd decided against it.

Reno was a pretty damn conservative town, after all, and he wasn't sure the board of directors would readily accept this technology without calling him a charlatan and kicking him out on his rear end. Maybe later, after he'd established himself here and had a chance to figure out exactly how the morphing worked, he could convince them that it was an upgrade and demand more money for it.

Several hours later, Scott congratulated himself on putting on the show of his life for these stuffed shirts. He'd especially savored the looks on their faces when his computer, while linked with their existing system, not only picked out the planted culprit and identified his method of dishonesty down to the nicked playing card in the middle of the deck that the man held in the palm of his hand, but uncovered two other known cheaters who had been blacklisted from the casino for some time, people the Red Sands' own security system had missed.

The board's decision had been swift and nearly unanimous. Scott's credentials were impeccable and the demonstration of his invention had gone flawlessly. It was only good business that the directors hired him to maintain the system that he was leasing to them, and it was only prudent to pay him more than the government would have ever considered for his services.

Washington D.C.
Present day
6:15 a.m.

A loud thump resounded through Fox Mulder's apartment as a long, lean, disheveled figure rolled off the couch and tumbled unceremoniously onto the floor. Reluctantly, he opened one bloodshot, hazel eye, guiltily surveying the space beneath his living room chair that served as a black hole for every piece of discarded trash he'd accumulated since he'd lived here. Got to clean that out before Dana starts moving furniture around, he thought in a semiconscious haze. But even that thought was too much for this early in the morning, and he gingerly squeezed his offending eye back into its previously closed position. Knowing that he should have cleaned it out long ago didn't help and somewhere in the back of his mind, he was leery of what might crawl out if he did move the blasted thing.

Damn, in all the years he'd spent sleeping on this couch, he'd never fallen off before. Finding himself unexpectedly on the floor now was at the very least unsettling. Things had changed. Oh boy and how. He'd gotten used to sleeping in a bed again and more importantly, he'd become accustomed to not waking up alone. So it was that while reaching for her even in his sleep, he had landed himself here... in a heap... on the floor.

God, he missed Dana already. Waking up alone without her snuggled warmly against his chest just seemed unnatural somehow. She was right, though. At her insistence they'd decided that for now at least, sleeping in their own apartments would be best, since he no longer had a legitimate excuse for staying at her place... well, according to Bureau politics anyway, Mulder frowned mentally.

Ordinarily, he'd have been overjoyed to finally escape the never-ending mothering of Margaret Scully and return to his work. Except now he had a relentless ache in his jaw that had kept him up half the night. Why was this happening to him? He'd been a good little Mulder, brushing and flossing every day when he wasn't being kidnapped, or beaten to a pulp by aliens, mutants, and crazed serial killers. Okay, so his diet left much to be desired but hey, he'd never had a cavity --- so why all of the sudden did his whole goddamn face feel like it was going to explode and drop off into his lap?

Slowly Mulder cradled his now swollen jaw in one hand, pushed himself up off the floor with the other, and staggered stiffly into the kitchen.

Aspirin... I need Aspirin. Fumbling unsuccessfully with the childproof lid on the aspirin bottle for several minutes, frustration and pain finally got the best of him. Patience gave way to temper and he released the bottle's meager contents by smashing the plastic container with a tenderizing mallet he'd pulled from a nearby drawer. Childproof that, assholes. With the mallet still in his hand, Mulder stopped and thought about the whole situation and started to smile until he was rudely reminded of just how much that would hurt. Better get used to these damn caps... I've got a feeling they're going to be everywhere in the near future. "Kids are probably the only ones who can open these things anyway," Mulder muttered to himself.

Somehow four aspirin yeah, that's right Dana...four made it into his mouth along with a finger full of clear, smelly goop that was supposed to miraculously numb the pain. He'd been in enough pain last night that he actually made a trip to a nearby 7-11 for something to alleviate the agony.

The clerk had suggested an adult strength version of something originally made for teething babies. This crap didn't work last night but what the hell, he was desperate enough to give it another try. Nope. Was it his imagination or did this shit numb everything except his fucking tooth?

His tongue felt twice as big as it should have, lolling around in his mouth like some mismatched transplant, and the resulting saliva drooling out of the corners of his mouth and onto the waiting dishtowel that he held under his chin certainly wasn't attractive.

"Shit!!!" he garbled out loud. This was demeaning. Maybe he should wear a little bib for the rest of the day and give Dana some much needed practice wiping up drool.

He looked at the E.T. wall clock hanging over his kitchen sink. Uh oh...big finger and little finger are both on the six, come on smart guy...let's figure this out. "Damn," he muttered under his breath as his brain registered the time. Six-thirty already. Nothing like oversleeping on your first day back to work. Skinner would just love that. Jesus, Mulder, get it together. Dana will be here to pick you up in half an hour and you haven't even had a shower yet. Bet she has... A lop-sided smile lit up his face as he considered the possibility that she'd arrive early and scrub his back. Oh yeah, that'd be just great. Then you'd really be late. Can't you stop thinking about her just long enough to take a shower? The answer was a resounding "no." Ok, better make it a cold shower then, his hormones screamed in unison.

Mulder closed his eyes, thoroughly disgusted by his body's total lack of control. Come on Mulder, get with the program, he thought with some irritation. All Dana needs this morning is to come through that door and find your dick doubling as a goddamn towel rack or a convenient place to hang your soap on a rope. "You.... you," he mumbled accusingly as he looked down at the disobedient part of himself that sometimes seemed to have a life of its own. "You know, the love of your life is puking her guts out every morning because of you," he sighed.

"Oh, I don't know about that," a soft familiar voice purred from the doorway. Mulder nearly jumped out of his skin. She'd obviously used her key to let herself into his apartment but he'd never heard a thing. In his surprise he'd turned around to face her, and watched her eyebrows climb in amusement as she gazed down at the part of himself with which he'd been carrying on a rather one-sided conversation.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Fox," she said, emphasizing the obvious words and laughing lightly as she sneaked another downward glance.

"Missed me, huh?" Unable to think of a way out of yet another embarrassing situation, Mulder merely nodded. "I missed you, too," Dana said. "But as far as blaming one of my favorite things in the world for our situation, you can stop that right now. After all... it did take two, didn't it?"

"As I recall," Mulder agreed. He glanced at E.T. again. "Shit! I'm running late and I still have to shower." Mulder rushed around Dana, leaving her in the middle of his kitchen. He stopped and looked at his lady, the picture of professionalism in a dark gray suit with a burgundy silk blouse. She was so beautiful, even just standing there doing nothing, that the last thing he wanted to do today was work, but calling out sick on your first day back after sick leave definitely was not a good idea. "I'm sorry, Dana," he mumbled. "I won't take long, I promise."

Dana sighed as he disappeared down the hall toward his bathroom. In a minute she heard the sound of running water and thought briefly about making herself a cup of tea while she waited. Oh well, scratch that idea.

Mulder didn't have a microwave and boiling the water on the stove would take too long so a glass of ice water seemed to be her only available recourse. Probably better for you anyway, she thought. Curbing her caffeine intake had been high on her doctor's list of how to take care of herself and her impending bundle of joy. At least most of the herb teas she enjoyed were naturally caffeine-free, but she supposed that meant drinking decaf coffee at work. Wonder how Mulder's going to like that? Guess it's not going to matter because he's not going to know> she thought deviously. Fox was the last person in the world who actually needed caffeine. As far as she was concerned, Mulder was hyper enough without it.

Hearing the shower stop, Dana strolled leisurely down the hall and pushed the bathroom door open with one dainty foot. She was rewarded with the sight of Mulder standing in front of the sink, a towel wrapped around his waist, his wet hair standing out in short spikes away from his head, and shaving cream lathered on his face. Dana let her eyes wander unabashedly over his form, the lean muscles of his legs and thighs, the curve of his back, the nearly healed scars which glistened a faint pink from the heat of the shower. She knew his body in intimate detail, of course, but that never stopped her from admiring it whenever the opportunity presented itself.

She stayed in the doorway, watching him shave. His eyes smiled a greeting at her, telling her he enjoyed having her with him, but he didn't pause in his routine. He was running too late for that.

When he finished shaving, Dana walked over to the sink and gently brushed a wayward splotch of shaving cream from his nose and kissed him lightly on the lips. She was surprised when Mulder winced slightly and pulled away from her touch.

"What?" she asked with concern, a frown line building between her eyebrows.

"It's nothing," he said, drying his face on the towel that hung askew on small rack next to the sink. Nothing my ass, she thought.

Dana intensified her scrutiny of his face. Now that she took a really good look at it, something looked wrong here. "This side of your face looks swollen. Let me see inside."

Mulder wilted under her penetrating stare, but it was clear he didn't wanted to be doctored -- again. She knew he'd had enough of that lately. More than enough. "No, it's okay... really," he hedged, and she could tell from the look on his face that he was trying to think of a plausible explanation for why one side of his mouth looked like he had a marble hidden in his cheek. "Mulder, open your mouth," she ordered.

"No!" he replied adamantly.

"God, you're stubborn!" she said with a huff. "You got your chance to do this the easy way."

Dana made a quick move. The look of surprise on Mulder's face was priceless as the sharp pain in his right big toe registered with his brain.

"Aaahhhggg!" Mulder yelled as he automatically bent down to clutch at his foot. Dana used the opportunity to grab his now open mouth and hold it apart with both hands while removing the heel of her shoe from his toe. Peering into his mouth, it didn't take Dana long to figure out the cause of the marble-in-cheek look.. "Mulder, I'm not a dentist, but I'd say it's a good bet that you've got a nasty infection in that tooth." She released his mouth and he shut it with a snap. "You need to go to the dentist. Root canal time, my dear," she informed him with clinical expertise.

Dana noticed with alarm that Mulder paled visibly at the mention of 'dentist' and nearly passed out at the mention of the words 'root canal.' "I don't need a dentist," he argued, experimentally wiggling his big toe.

After that little move, I'll probably need a damn podiatrist instead, he added silently. "Dentists are evil, sadistic, and just plain weird. I mean, who actually wants to make a living rooting around in other people's mouths all day long? Drilling teeth... God! I saw that Dustin Hoffman movie. And a root canal!" Mulder shuddered. "A root canal is a form of torture left over from the inquisition," he added with conviction.

"Look, it's only going to get worse the longer you wait," she said, trying to use a logical argument to convince the adult in him to take a sensible course of action. It really bugged her when he acted so childishly.

"I am not going to let some quack root around in my mouth, okay?"

Mulder left her behind as he stalked off into his bedroom and finished getting dressed. Hoping that the matter was dropped, at least for now, he made it a point not to favor his jaw as they left his apartment and walked outside to their car. Dana would be driving, of course, which meant his knees would be playing tummy tag with his belly button. Damn government conventions, anyway. If the Bureau hadn't been sucking up to the gaggle of visiting Vips by offering them first choice from the Bureau's fleet, he wouldn't have been stuck with this motorized relic with the solid front seat. where in the hell did they dig up this fossil? The Smithsonian?

Mulder admitted to himself that he was a little put off by the fact that Dana still wouldn't let him drive. He told her he had fully recovered, the Bureau physician told her he was fine, yet she still insisted on shuttling him around.

As far as he knew, having a toothache was not sufficient grounds to revoke his driver's license, but arguing with her at this point would be useless and he knew it. Yeah, he knew it, but that had never stopped him before, had it?

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Mulder heaved a loud, annoyed sigh.

"You know, I haven't forgotten how to drive," he said. No response. She just kept staring straight ahead, concentrating on the road. Glancing at her, he noticed for the first time that she looked a little pale. Idiot, he thought, she probably doesn't feel very well, either. He wondered if she'd managed to hold anything down this morning.

Try again, Mulder. "And come to think of it, you look a little green around the edges yourself. If you're not feeling well, maybe you should call out," he added with note of concern that sounded a little more patronizing than he intended.

Dana hit the brakes a little too forcefully at the intersection's red light. Not expecting the sudden stop, Mulder was thrown forward, nearly impaling his kneecaps into his stomach. Thank God for seat belts.

Turning her head slowly to the side, one corner of Dana's mouth crooked upward at the exact same time as an arching eyebrow rose toward her crimson hairline. She laughed to herself briefly as she took in wide-eyed look of surprise that exploded on Mulder's usually calm, composed face.

Don't crack a smile, Dana. You can't let him get away with it that easily. "Me call in sick!" she said. "I don't believe this is coming from a man whose face at this very moment resembles a lopsided chipmunk with the mumps. In case you've been misinformed, pregnancy is not an illness.

However, I don't believe the same can be said about an abscessed tooth," she said loudly, concluding her mini 'enlightened male' lecture. At least for now.

Jesus, Mulder, you should know when to keep your big mouth shut. Dana wasn't usually this sensitive to his occasional slips into 'me-Tarzan-you-Jane' mode. Must be some kind of pregnancy-related hormonal thing, he thought anxiously. His mind spun like a pair of tires in a mud hole while he tried to formulate the proper response to her obviously displeased reaction. He finally gave up and said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Okay, I'd say open mouth, insert foot," he admitted, "except both feet are presently crammed up under the dashboard and I think inserting either one in my mouth at the moment would undoubtedly generate great pain."

Oh shit, she'd given him 'the look,' the one where her mouth and eyebrow seemed connected by an invisible string. Damn, you're treading in unfamiliar territory here, fella... better watch your step. When she didn't respond to his remark, he finally decided that silence was his best bet. It might not get him out of hot water, but it probably wouldn't get him in any deeper either.

Shifting back in his seat in an attempt to unfold his legs as far as possible, not to mention dig the damn seat belt out of his collarbone, he studied her out of the corner of his eye. Her attention was back on the road and she was ignoring him, at least for the time being. He noticed the spots of color on her cheeks and the glint in her eyes. Her face hadn't had this much color in a while. In fact, he had to admit that she had been looking better the last couple of days. Maybe her bouts with morning sickness were about over.

Either that, or she just got a decidedly evil kick out of watching him run around in circles trying to figure her out and she was just about ready to burst into giggles.

On the other hand, unbeknownst to her, Mulder had tossed his cookies every morning this week. It was getting to be a regular habit, one he'd just as soon avoid. God must be a woman after all -- Dana gets pregnant, you get sick. It's only fair. If she ever found out about his daily barf fest in the bathroom, Mulder knew he'd never hear the end of it. He wondered what other little pregnancy-related psychosomatic illnesses he could expect as he reached into his coat pocket, checking to make sure he'd brought his antacid tablets. Oh, noooo.... the little bottle was missing. Now what, stupid? How are you going to ask her nonchalantly to drop by a drug store? She won't rest until she badgers you into telling her what you need there. He patted his pocket again but came up empty.

"Looking for this?" Dana asked with a controlled snicker as she held up the little bottle he was looking for. "Does Fox have a tummy ache?" She had to look away from him to keep from laughing outright for his facial expression fell somewhere in between the embarrassment of discovering you left the restroom with your fly open and toilet paper stuck to the bottom of your shoe and the horror of being caught jacking off in the closet.

Mulder made a mad grab for the bottle but wasn't fast enough to snatch it from her hand as she held it just out of his reach. He briefly thought about wrestling her for it, but considering that she was driving at the moment it wouldn't have been a very wise idea. "Give it," he finally entreated.

Dana slipped him the bottle, which he immediately stashed in his pocket.

Joking aside, nausea combined with an abscessed tooth might be the outward signs of a more serious, system-wide infection. She wasn't about to let him get sick all over again, not after what they'd just been through.

She turned a serious gaze on him, letting some of her underlying concern show through. "Are you okay?" she asked, reaching out a hand to check his forehead for any unnatural warmth. "Have you been ill? This could be serious, Mulder. Why didn't you say something?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled reluctantly, refusing to meet her eyes. "I've just...been getting a little sick, that's all... for about a week... in the mornings...." he trailed off in a nearly inaudible whisper.

Dana stared at him in amazement. "You have morning sickness?" She giggled in spite of herself as he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. Men! She reached out and softly patted his head. "It's okay, Mulder.

I mean, it's not unheard of and it's definitely nothing to be ashamed of.

You're just... sensitive, that's all."

Mulder slowly raised his head and rolled his eyes upward. "Great, just great. So when will it stop?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Dana smiled softly. "Oh, probably in about another month," she replied in her most gentle tone

"Oh, wonderful," he groaned, pathetically pulling the bottle of Tums from his pocket. He proceeded to dump several tablets into the less painful side of his mouth, leaned back and closed his eyes.

Dana reached over, brushing her fingertips lightly along Mulder's arm. She felt him tremble slightly beneath her touch. "Are you sure you want to go through with this today?" she asked. "A few more days won't make that much difference and I'm sure Skinner would understand."

"No," he replied, his voice filled with defiant determination. "I'm ready to work. I need to work, Dana," Mulder said in a tense voice. "Don't get me wrong, I really love your mom. She's a wonderful person and I would never want to hurt her feelings. But I swear, if I have to sit through one more game show, watch one more soap opera version of musical beds, or listen to Sally Jesse Raphael extol the virtues of celibacy or some other mundane, irrelevant topic, one more time, I'm going to lose it totally and become an X-File myself." Mulder reached out, gently placing his own hand over the delicate hand that had been absently stroking his arm. "I've been away too long already," he added as an afterthought as Dana smoothly guided the car into the parking garage and stopped at the closest space available.

Chapter 2: Accolades And Revelations

Red Sands Hotel/Casino
Reno, Nevada

About the same time Fox Mulder was confessing his unusual sympathy pains to the love of his life, two thousand miles to the west and three times zones away Lily Morgan was looking forward to the end of yet another thrilling night of work. Nobody else wanted to work the graveyard shift in the coffee shop at the Red Sands, but Lily was happy enough with her 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. schedule. Sure, the tips were lousy -- you had to have customers, and a lot of them, to earn anything in tips -- but it was quiet, especially after midnight. Only the hard-core gamblers were left after midnight, and when they did wander into the coffee shop to refuel before hitting the tables again they kept mostly to themselves. Especially if they were losing, and everyone eventually lost. Casinos weren't built because the owners lost money. Lily wondered if anyone ever figured that out.

Sam sure hadn't. He was her only customer at the moment, sitting by himself at the counter drinking his third cup of coffee and finishing the last bite of cherry pie ala mode left on his plate. Sam was a 21 player and he'd just figured out a system to beat the house. Or at least he thought he had, and he'd wanted to share his knowledge with his newest best friend, the lonely waitress working in the coffee shop. Lily wanted no part of him cheating the house was severely frowned upon and she had no intention of angering the people she worked for -- so she'd been trying to avoid him as best she could. She'd busied herself cleaning and restocking all the empty tables for the breakfast crowd. The fake wood grain tabletops had never gleamed so brightly.

"Hey, Lil, I need some coffee, ok hon?"

Lily looked up in time to see Sabrina Ericks slip behind the counter and pour a cup of coffee. Sabrina was a cocktail waitress at the Red Sands. At this time in the morning it wasn't usual for cocktail waitresses to be handing over as many cups of coffee as watered down drinks to those still on the gaming floor. Usually they got coffee from the bar, but Sabrina had seen Lily just make a fresh pot. She must have someone who's tipping her good, Lily thought. Fresh coffee would keep the tips coming, as long as the guy was still winning.

Sabrina paid for the coffee from the change on her tray, then surveyed the nearly empty coffee shop. "Slow night, huh?" she commented. Lily nodded her head and shrugged her shoulders as she rung up the sale on the cash register. She knew what was coming.

"I keep telling you, you could really rake in the tips of you'd just switch to cocktails," Sabrina said, leaning in and lowering her voice to a husky whisper. "With that face and that figure, you'd be a knockout."

"I don't like to work cocktails," Lily muttered. They'd been through this before so often that it was almost like they were reading a script.

"Damn shame," Sabrina replied. "You're a pretty girl, Lily. I don't know why you try to hide it." Sabrina picked up her tray again. "More for me, I guess, right?" she asked with a smile.

"Go get 'em," Lily said with a faint return grin as Sabrina walked out of the coffee shop. Sabrina had a cute little shape herself, and the cocktail waitress outfit she wore made sure that nearly all of it was on display for the general public. The Red Sands had an Arabian Nights theme, and the cocktail waitresses were dressed like genies in a bottle, right down to the slippers with the little pointed up toes. And to think that during the 60's Barbara Eden couldn't even show her bellybutton on network TV, Lily thought. In the Red Sands the only women who wore less clothes than the cocktail waitresses were the showgirls who went nearly topless every night in the casino cabaret lounge. Like those little things they wore over their nipples could conceivably be called clothes. Lily didn't want to be caught dead in an outfit like the one Sabrina had to wear every night, and the thought of all those strange male eyes crawling over her figure made her sick to her stomach. The shapeless outfit she wore in the coffee shop suited her just fine.

Lily looked back at the counter in time to see Sam, the erstwhile card shark, pull out a few dollar bills and lay them next to his plate. She smiled at him as he left, a polite, 'thanks for coming in' smile, but nothing too warm or encouraging. After months of working the coffee shop, Lily was getting good at it.

She sighed as she picked up the money Sam had left. The bill for the coffee and pie had been $3.55 and Sam had left four one-dollar bills. No, tips were definitely not going to be good tonight. She picked up the dirty dishes and took them back to the sink in the kitchen. Things could be worse. Hell, they had been worse, much worse, and Lily was determined never to let that happen again. Even if she had to struggle for the rest of her life in a dead-end job with never enough money. At least she was free.

FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.

Dana guided their car into the parking garage with ease and pulled into the closest space available. Being a somewhat older model, built in the days when good gas mileage wasn't such a high priority, it was a little larger than what she usually drove, but she had no trouble parking it. Mulder figured the Captain must have taught his baby girl how to drive in the biggest, safest boat of a car he could find because she handled this one like a pro.

While extricating himself from the cramped confines of the car, Mulder surveyed the parking garage with mild curiosity. That's strange, he thought in passing, every space was filled except for the one that they had just pulled into. He looked briefly at the curb to see if they'd parked in a reserved spot by mistake, but as far as he could tell the spot was one of those first-come-first-claim spaces. Never in all his years with the Bureau had he ever managed to get a spot this close to an entrance.

Wait a minute -- something's not quite right here. The small tingle in the back of his mind nudged Mulder's senses up a notch. The odds of getting a parking place this near to a door were about the same as finding a snowball in hell or seeing Skinner with hair. Relax pal, you're getting paranoid already and you haven't even made it into the building yet. He duly noted the uneasy feeling, decided it must be first day back at the job jitters, and filed it away for future reference. Placing a protective hand in the small of Dana's back, he guided her through the door and into the lobby.

Several minutes passed before he realized that he'd left his hand comfortably on her back the entire time they'd walked down the hall to the elevator. He quickly removed it, hoping no one had noticed. Mulder suddenly discovered with some chagrin that keeping his hands off his future wife was apparently going to be more difficult than he'd previously anticipated.

Why now?? he asked himself, trying to look on the situation with some objectivity. After all, they'd been intimate for over two years and he'd never had a problem refraining from outward physical displays of affection in public before. So why did he suddenly have such an overpowering need to indulge now? Well, it didn't exactly take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. She wasn't carrying your child before, Einstein. It's only natural that you'd feel a little more protective of her and have the urge to touch her a little more than usual, he rationalized. That may be so dim wit, but the fact remains that unless you want all of this to be public knowledge before you're ready to deal with it, you'd better watch your P's and Q's. They rode the elevator in comfortable silence, each engrossed in their own separate thoughts. Mulder glanced down at the top of her head and smiled.

Child? he thought to himself with a small touch of lingering disbelief.

Intellectually he accepted the reality of the situation but emotionally...emotionally he was a mess. He knew he was still in a mild state of shock trying to deal with all the conflicting feelings that this certain knowledge evoked within him. Happy? God, yes he was happy, thrilled beyond anything he'd ever imagined possible. But he was also afraid, more afraid than he'd ever been in his life. And how could he possibly tell her about that?

Never in a million years had he ever expected to find someone like Dana or to have a family of his own. Before he'd met her, Mulder had pretty much resigned himself to his perceived notion that he'd live out his life separate and alone. He knew it was absurd, but he almost felt guilty about being so happy. Could it be that he'd learned to be so accepting of sorrow that he'd forgotten how to handle joy? Was it possible that he created his own demons just to keep himself from being happy? Fox Mulder, you think too goddamn much...for once in your miserable life, just be happy. Unable to resist temptation, Mulder bent over and lightly kissed the top of her head, only then realizing that the elevator was going up, not down.

"Hey! Where are we going?" he asked..

Dana bent her head back and smiled into his soft questioning eyes. "Skinner called this morning and wanted us to meet him in the large conference room, must be for a briefing, I guess.

Shit! Skinner the first thing in the morning. He knew they'd have to meet with Skinner sometime today, but he'd hoped to at least get settled in again before facing the wrath of Walter. And why the large conference room?

Maybe someone else was going to be sitting in on this meeting -- a whole room full of someone else's. "Do you know what's going on?" he asked.

Dana shrugged her shoulders. "You've been out of commission for over two months now and he probably just wants to give you an update on what's been happening while you were gone. He didn't mention anything about a new case."

Mulder still wasn't convinced. Something was going on here. "But why the conference room, not just his office?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. I think I overheard someone say Skinner's office was getting painted this week, so maybe he's using the conference room as a temporary office. With Skinner, who knows?"

Mulder leaned in close to Dana's ear. "Probably having the place swept for bugs," he whispered.

Dana tilted her head up toward Mulder and watched his face carefully. She hoped that he'd buy what she considered a logical explanation, but she could see from the twitch in his jaw and his growing muscular tension that visions of facing a panel full of chain-smoking, shadow hugging cancer men were dancing in his head, and that his mind had filled the conference room with dozens of shadowy figures whose only purpose in life was to kill him with second-hand smoke. Inwardly, Dana grinned at the absurdity of the picture that filled her mind, while outwardly she worked at carefully maintaining her neutral mask. "Come on Mulder, how bad could it be? You haven't even officially reported for duty yet so how could you possibly be in trouble?"

Mulder looked doubtful as the elevator doors opened "If anyone can be in trouble before even reporting for duty, you can bet it will be me." Dana flashed him a look of exasperation as they both stepped out into yet another corridor leading to yet another generic door. The look on his face resembled that of a scolded beagle and Dana had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Ooh, this was going to be good.

Pausing before the closed door, Mulder absently rubbed his aching jaw.

The aspirin and gum goop had worn off during the drive over and the pain in his mouth was returning with a vengeance.

"You know, Mulder," Dana whispered at him, "it is possible to take pessimism just a bit too far."

Mulder looked down into her lovely eyes. God, if he only had half the confidence in himself that she seemed to have in him. But what she said did make sense. How in the world could he be in trouble already? As this thought sunk home, his countenance lightened slightly and he managed a wary smile even through the pain in his mouth. "You're absolutely right!" he garbled cheerfully, suddenly wishing he could throw his voice. Moving his jaw enough to talk was becoming an exercise in pain. "How could I piss him off if I haven't even been here?"

Mulder raised his arm and knocked on the door with more confidence than he still actually felt. If nothing else, he could at least go in with a positive attitude and if Skinner proceeded to yell at him, well, it was nothing he hadn't heard before.

"Agent Mulder, is that you?" Skinner's voice seemed to shake the building like a thunderclap in a Summer storm.

Mulder lowered his eyes and searched Dana's face for some clue as to what he might have done. Even Dana's confidence seemed to be wavering just slightly because all of a sudden she refused to meet his eyes. Mulder swallowed hard before answering. "Yes, sir," he mumbled respectfully.

"Get in here!" Skinner bellowed.

Mulder felt the door vibrate beneath his fingertips from the volume alone.

Shit, but I haven't even been here, he thought again, racking his brain trying to come up with an explanation for Skinner's obvious foul mood.

Dana nipped the inside of her mouth again in an attempt to maintain a solemn appearance. It was getting harder by the second, and she nearly lost it when Mulder turned to her with a look of confused worry. "Jesus, Dana, what did I do?" he asked in a voice cracked with exasperation. "Christ, you don't think he found out about us, do you?" Dana shook her head in response, not trusting her voice.

Mulder turned back toward the door, took a deep breath to steady himself, then gently pushed his way through the door into... darkness. What the hell?? Instinctively, Mulder drew his weapon before Dana could move to stop him, and he had just assumed the Weaver stance when the lights suddenly clicked on, revealing a room full of people.

"WEL..." they began to shout but froze in mid-word when they found themselves looking down the business end of Mulder's glock.

Dana gently grasped a thoroughly bewildered Fox Mulder, slowly lowering both arm and gun toward the floor before carefully removing the weapon from his hand and placing it back into its holster.

"Come Back," the crowd finally stuttered, releasing the breath they'd all been holding.

"Hell of a way to greet your supervisor and coworkers, Agent Mulder," Skinner said. His soft spoken words, accompanied by a good-natured grin, only accentuated the absurdity of the moment. "Good to have to you back," Skinner added as he stuck out his hand to firmly shake Mulder's. "I think."

Dana finally released the giggles she had been suppressing all morning long.

The sight of Skinner actually shaking hands with Mulder, not to mention the shock on Mulder's face, were just too much. She watched while her usually unperturbable partner stood in stunned silence as familiar faces smiled and friends shook his hand and slapped him on the back, saw him stare in open-mouthed surprise at the computer-generated banner hanging on the far wall which simply read: 'Welcome back, Spooky.' a cake in the shape of a cartoon flying saucer occupied the central conference room table. Dana noticed that Henderson was already doling out slices to the hungry occupants of the room.

"Mulder, close your mouth, you're collecting flies," Dana snickered as she nudged him forward to the center of the room.

"I'll get you for this, Dana Scully," he whispered under his breath.

She turned slowly and faced him with the most innocent expression he'd ever encountered. "What makes you think this was my idea? It wasn't, although I kind of wish it was since it turned out so well," she said with conviction that he found difficult to disbelieve. However, he found it equally unbelievable that these people would have thought of anything like this on their own, at least for him. "Relax and enjoy it, Mulder," she added.

Easy for her to say he thought.

Skinner cleared his throat and the room quieted down. "Mulder, get over here so I can officially put your sorry ass back on duty," Skinner said in his customary voice of authority.

Mulder approached Skinner tentatively with more than just a little apprehension. He wasn't used to this kind of attention, and he knew that AD Skinner knew that. But for some reason, Walter Skinner always seemed to try and draw him out into social situations whenever he saw an opportunity. Maybe it was just his boss's way of attempting to normalize him. Right about now he'd rather face a dozen Phoebe Greens than walk over to where Skinner was standing, in front of God and a good portion of the FBI.

"Agent Mulder," Skinner began, "I've been asked to make a small presentation on behalf of the technical staff, the secretarial pool, and your fellow field agents in this division. But before I do, I'd like to make a few comments."

Mulder squirmed, feeling like he was ten years old again and back in the Vice Principal's office. He glanced at the door, wondering if he could make it out of here before something particularly embarrassing happened. If EBE's were ever going to abduct him, now would be a really good time.

"Tech staff supervisor Mccory would like to welcome you back to duty," Skinner continued, glancing at a piece of paper he'd taken from his pocket Great, crib notes Mulder thought. "He has reported to me that during your leave, absenteeism increased thirty percent due to the increase of mundane, run of the mill cases that have been submitted to them for analysis. In fact, it seems that Murray has taken to playing Foofighters on his sound equipment in the hopes of finding definitive proof of life after death." Skinner paused and searched the room for Murray, who was by now trying desperately to blend into the wallpaper. "I'm looking forward to hearing the explanation for that, Murray," Skinner said.

"Yes, sir," Murray managed to croak out, to the general laughter of the room's other occupants. Mulder couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the young sound tech, especially since he'd always had a crush on Dana.

Murray had been the only one as devastated as Mulder during Dana's disappearance, if such a thing were possible, and Mulder wondered how he was going to react when her condition became obvious.

"I think it's safe to say that everyone in tech support can't wait for your next unusual theory to come across their desks," Skinner said. "I, for one, could wait just a little longer, if you don't mind." Mulder could hardly believe it - Skinner was actually smiling at him. Mulder didn't think he'd ever seen Skinner smile before, especially not when he was referring to The X-Files. Maybe he'd better check Skinner's office for a pod or some other, more insidious brain control device.

Skinner consulted his notes again. " Mrs. Johnson, however, wants to know when you are going on your next leave. Since you haven't been making your daily trips through the typing pool to get to the basement elevator, typos have dropped by an amazing fifty percent and paperwork was actually getting done in a timely manner." Several of the secretaries in attendance blushed and giggled, and one young woman was flustered enough that she actually dropped her piece of cake on the floor. "Do you always have this affect on women, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked. Mulder felt a warm flush heating up his own face and thought that things couldn't possibly get more embarrassing than this. He was wrong.

"Now, as spokesman for the field agents in this division, Agent Hanson would like to present you with a small token of their esteem." Skinner stepped back to make room for a large bull of a man with close cropped dark brown hair. Hanson could have been a defensive lineman for the Washington Redskins, except that while his movements were as powerful as any pro football player, he moved with a surprising grace you wouldn't expect from someone with his bulk. As Hanson took over the spot that Skinner had just vacated, Mulder unconsciously took a step backward.

There weren't many people who could make Mulder feel like a dwarf, but Hanson was one of them.

"Hey, Mulder," the big man announced with a wry smile and a good-natured but bone-jarring pat on Mulder's back. "It's good to have you back. But you know, it came to our attention through an unnamed source who participated in that little mishap a couple of weeks ago, that an incident occurred during your incarceration that merits mention."

Mulder squirmed and shifted his weight nervously. What the hell was Hanson talking about? He drew a blank and looked to Dana for help, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. Shit, he knew he wasn't used to this, but he had a really bad feeling about what was coming up. His embarrassment was reaching epic proportions, but he held his ground and hoped he wasn't turning as red as he thought he was.

"So," Hanson continued, "for imaginative retaliation under pressure, pissing off a perp above and beyond the call of duty, and getting even without fear of legal ramifications, on behalf of field agents everywhere I'd like to present you with the first annual 'stick it to em' ' award." Hanson snorted as he took the cover off an object he held in his other hand, something Mulder hadn't even been aware was there.

Oh, God. Let the earth crack open and just swallow me now. Please. Mulder tried to stifle the urge to cringe as he came face to face with a trophied replication of a life-size Jack Daniels bottle. He should have known somebody would spread that little anecdote around. If it was part of someone's testimony, it was part of public record and there for the whole world to see. Just one more item to add to the Spooky Mulder legacy. He sighed and took the trophy from Hanson's outstretched hand.

Mulder forced himself to grin as he received a round of applause from the crowd, with a few catcalls mixed in for good measure. "Thanks," he muttered as he waited for the room to quiet down. He guessed they all expected him to say something. Someone yelled from the back of the room "Hey, Spooky. Did it fit?" and he nearly lost what composure he had as the crowd burst out laughing. But when he started speaking he was the picture of perfect aplomb - at least as perfect as anyone could get who was holding an empty Jack Daniels bottle glued to a plaque. "I accept this token of esteem and will do my best to live up to the expectations it symbolizes," he said, then looked over at Hanson. "Uh.... do you know? Is this thing functional? I'd like to keep it around just in case I happen to get caught short."

Hanson laughed at him and smacked him on the back again, nearly causing Mulder to lose his balance. He thanked a few other people, then looked around for the door. Instead he came face to face with Skinner.

"Just one more thing to make this official," Skinner said, handing him a thick file. "This came across my desk early this morning. Local police are at a loss and the violent crimes section is stumped. Welcome back, Agent Mulder - it's all yours."

"Thank you, sir. I'll take care of it," Mulder replied. Skinner raised an eyebrow at him and inclined his head toward the door, and Mulder realized that his boss was giving him an out. "Thank you," he said again, really meaning it this time. He made a beeline for the door and then the bathroom beyond.

"Alright, everybody. Party's over and you've got ten minutes to get to work," Skinner barked. People scattered like a room full of roaches when the lights are turned on and soon all that was left was typical party debris.

Scully remained to help clean up the mess. Tossing a handful of dirty paper plates into the trash, she caught Skinner's eye with a grateful smile. "Thank you, sir."

"For what, Agent Scully?" Skinner said, helping himself to another piece of cake. Henderson was a heck of cook and Scully wished she could have a second piece herself, but she really didn't need to add any more bulk to her already expanding waistline.

"For doing this for him."

"I didn't do anything, Agent Scully. " Skinner nodded his head toward the now-empty room. "All these people put the party together. I just gave my permission, that is all."

"That was enough, sir." Dana smiled again and without thinking bent to pick up a napkin off the floor. As she bent down, the ring Mulder had given her and which she wore on her necklace slipped out unnoticed from between the buttons of her shirt. When she stood back up again, the ring caught on the table, snapping the delicate chain on which it hung. It bounced off the floor and rolled into oblivion.

"Oh, no," she groaned, dropping to her knees beginning a frantic search under tables and chairs, forgetting that Skinner was even in the room.

"What did you lose, Scully?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

"My ring, sir. Uh... it's a family heirloom and I've got to find it." She was down on her hands and knees now, crawling under the conference table.

"It's very valuable and extremely important. Mu... uh... mom would kill me if I lost it." Scully winced, knowing the explanation sounded lame, even to her ears.

"Where did you drop it? I'll help you look for it," he offered.

Dana glanced back up at him so fast she conked her head on the underside of the table. "Ah... no, it's okay, sir. I'm sure I'll find it."

Skinner frowned at her, sensing that she was nervous about something but not really understanding why. This ring must be damned important.

"Nonsense. Two pairs of eyes are better than one, even if mine aren't exactly as good as they used to be," he put his cake on the table, then knelt down and began to search under the chairs lined up against the far wall. He was halfway to the door when he found it - an engagement ring of all things.

Skinner turned it over in his hand, marveling at the craftsmanship that went into the creation of this ring. Scully was right. You didn't need to be an expert to tell that it was made with the love and care of a true artisan, unlike most of the modern jewelry he'd seen these days. The light caught it in just the right way, illuminating an engraving inside the band. Before he knew it, he'd given into temptation and found himself reading the inscription. He inhaled sharply as the words sank into his brain. 'Forever and Always, Fox and Dana.' Skinner smiled to himself. It was gratifying to know that at least in this, his instincts remained intact. They'd just better be careful.

"I believe I found it," he said in a loud voice as he stood back up.

Dana crawled out from under the conference table and hurried across the room, hoping against hope that he hadn't read the inscription.

"Is this it?" Skinner asked as he placed the ring into the palm of her hand.

"Oh, yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Mom would kill me if I'd lost it." Dana closed her fingers tightly over the ring, then deposited it in the pocket of her jacket.

"Yes, I'm sure she would," Skinner said, fighting a grin.

"Sir?" Dana asked. Something didn't seem right here. She'd caught a look of restrained mischief in his eyes, and the tone of his voice suggested that he didn't quite believe her rather transparent story concerning the ring.

Dana read Skinner's expression, instinctively concluding without a doubt that he knew.

Oh, God - he knew. Dana's knees felt weak for a moment and then something hit her. Wait a minute, now - he knew. He'd known, maybe for some time now, and he hadn't blown the whistle on them. Dana's expression changed from shock to wonder as she contemplated her boss.

Sometimes this very complicated man really confused the hell out of her.

Skinner was as complex as Fox... well, almost.

Skinner surveyed the room cautiously as if he feared being overheard by the omnipresent fly on the wall. He walked over to a nearby table, motioning Dana to follow, and rustled some loose papers sitting on top.

"Agent Scully," he said in his normal AD voice as he pantomimed holding up a file, "I must urge you and your partner to deal with this matter with the utmost discretion. If you don't, things could get extremely complicated," he added after a slight pause.

Dana lowered her head and found herself staring at the floor. It was glaringly obvious to her now that Skinner had been aware of their relationship. Maybe, in his own way, he even personally approved of it.

Professionally, however, he'd just fulfilled his responsibilities by warning her of the possible repercussions of that relationship.

It surprised her, though, that at a time when he could be throwing the book at both of them, she felt nothing but genuine concern from Skinner. This was the same man who spent a major part of his time jumping on their asses and chewing Mulder's butt over every little aspect of their jobs, and now he was an apparent ally. Just like that. Or maybe not just like that.

Maybe he'd been trying to help them all along, but like rebellious teenagers who railed against their overprotective parents they hadn't been able to see it that way.

For whatever reason, Dana decided he was someone she could trust.

They'd have to tell someone soon anyway and it would be better if that someone had some pull as well as a sympathetic attitude. Her condition was already expanding her waistline to the point where she was going to need to trade in her present wardrobe for styles with a looser fit. This fact alone was alarming enough - she'd thought she'd have more time before she'd start to show. She did not want Skinner caught in the dark and off guard when the shit hit the fan, which evidently would be a lot sooner than anyone anticipated.

Raising her head slowly, Dana searched his face for any kind of malevolent intent. Finding none, she sighed and met his eyes with honesty and faith.

"Things are already complicated, sir," she muttered softly.

Skinner quickly raised one hand to halt any further vocal explanations.

Instead, he grabbed a pen and paper and handed it to her.

Silently, Dana wrote out one word and returned the small scrap of paper to his outstretched hand. Skinner stared at the word for several seconds, then stuffed the paper into his pocket. He massaged his temples heavily with the index fingers of both hands, squinting his eyes shut, then looked down into Dana's hopeful face.

Damn. This was one headache he didn't need. Perhaps he could have discreetly handled their relationship if they'd have kept everything low key.

After all, they'd fielded the usual Bureau rumors for years, and although partner romances were frowned upon, they weren't exactly forbidden either. However, this little turn of events changed everything. He could smoke screen a romance, but he sure as hell couldn't hide a baby - not for very long, anyway. Reassignment wasn't even a viable option at this point, unless of course, it was nearby. Though the Bureau sometimes callously relocated erring partners thousands of miles apart, they were still human enough to resist separating a family unit, which is what these three would soon be.

But he'd figure something out. He had to. That's why they pay you the big bucks, Walter. He felt a real affection for Mulder and Scully, but he had to admit he had ulterior motives for wanting them safe, healthy, and happy.

When they were happy, someone important to him was happy, and when that person was happy, so was he. Walter Skinner decided that he liked being happy.

Skinner smiled down at Dana. "Agent Scully, I'll see what I can do to assist you in solving this case."

"Thank you, sir." Dana breathed a huge sigh of relief. Things could have gone worse - a lot worse. They still might, but at least telling the first person in the Bureau who should know was out of the way. What happened now would be more or less out of her control. Dana didn't like that fact any, but it was a fact nonetheless and one she'd been dealing with privately ever since her condition had been confirmed.

Skinner looked around the room - still just the two of them. He should have know Mulder wouldn't come back. Although, considering the news he'd just received, Mulder was probably better off making himself scarce right about now. "In the meantime," he continued, "may I suggest that you conduct a search for your partner. I would have thought he'd be back from the restroom by now, but from the look of things, he's probably cut and run."

"Social events have never been his forte', sir," Dana said.

Skinner grunted in agreement. "Agent Mulder is the only person I know who can get into trouble even in the J. Edgar Hoover Building if he's left alone too long. Better locate him, Agent Scully, before he ends up in a body cast, traction, or both," he retrieved the piece of cake he'd left on the table and stabbed a bite. "You know, I've actually taken to filling out his medical forms ahead of time with the 'type of injury' space left blank... just to save time," he grumbled, then popped the piece of cake into his mouth.

Dana stood next to Skinner, unsure whether or not she'd actually been dismissed. The room was still a mess, but she wanted - no needed - to find Mulder to let him know what had just happened.

Skinner noticed her indecision. "Go on, get out of here," he said with a stern scowl, gesturing with his fork toward the open door. "You've got a new case to work on. I'll have my assistant make your travel arrangements so all you have to do is get him to the airport on time and in one piece."

Dana smiled with understanding and turned to walk away.

"Good Luck," Skinner called after Scully's retreating form, his lips creeping upward into a muted smile. He finished off the last piece of cake and dumped the empty paper plate and plastic fork in the trash. His ramrod straight shoulders slumped forward a little with fatigue as he walked out the door on his way back to his office. One more headache to deal with.

Why can't life be simple, he asked himself silently.

Red Sands Hotel/Casino
Reno, Nevada

Lily looked at her watch, a cheap black plastic digital. Five thirty. Half an hour until her shift was over. Lord, her feet hurt, her back hurt, and whatever curls had been in her hair at the beginning of her shift were long gone now. All in all, she felt far older than a twenty-eight-year-old had any right to feel. At least she was almost done for the day. A short drive home and she'd be back at her apartment where she could collapse on her bed, until she had to start all over again tonight at ten. Ugh, what a lovely thought. "Need a refill, waitress."

"Sure thing," she said with a smile that felt pasted on. The effort was wasted on her customer, an overweight, badly dressed business type. His head was buried in this morning's edition of The Wall Street Journal, and she probably could have stuck her tongue out at him and he wouldn't have noticed. She refilled his coffee cup and he never even looked up at her.

"Got a spot for me, Lily?"

Lily's smile transformed into something a little more genuine as she heard Scott's greeting. It was the same routine every morning, but it never failed to brighten her day up somehow. Scott Simons, the casino's new security chief, always had breakfast in the coffee shop, always said the same thing to her, always left her a big tip, and in general was the nicest casino exec she'd ever known. None of the others even knew her name. She was just another employee on the payroll, employee number 2867 as stamped on her timecard, but Scott was different. Of course, he hadn't been in the casino business all that long himself. Maybe by the time he'd put in as many years as all the other suits, he'd be just as aloof as they were.

"Kept your favorite spot open, Mr. Simons," Lily replied, pouring a cup of coffee as Scott settled into his favorite booth. "You want your usual?"

Scott didn't reply for a moment. That was strange, Lily thought, and took a good look at him. He was a little pale, kind of worried looking. "You okay, Mr. Simons?" she asked.

"Uh... yeah, sure, I'm fine," he replied, trying a smile that looked as phony as the one she'd given the slob at the counter just a few minutes ago. "The usual it is, Lily."

"Comin' right up," Lily said, giving him one more careful look before she headed back to the kitchen to place his order.

Scott watched her walk away. Okay? No, things were definitely not okay, but he hadn't figured out exactly what the problem was yet. Strange things were happening with his security system. Nothing major, mind you, but it took just a few little glitches with a system based on technology as weird as this to worry him. Ever since he'd installed it, he'd subjected it to periodic little tests to make sure it was receiving his instructions right, and he was still fiddling with its morphing capabilities. In the last couple of weeks the tests hadn't turned out the way he expected, and he was frustrated that he hadn't made any headway figuring out how in the world this thing managed to transform matter.

And then there were the murders. They had nothing to do with his system, he was sure of that, but they still troubled him. The Reno of the 1990's was different from the Reno of his youth, with rumblings of gang activity that had moved in from nearby California, and the murder rate had been rising year by year. But it had never been anything like this. in the past few weeks several people had died outside the casino. If they had died on the gaming floor, Scott would have suspected his system of taking its directives a bit too seriously, but these people died outside and his system wasn't concerned with outside security. Still, the police had questioned him and most of the staff as well, and reviewed in minute detail the videotapes of the gaming areas. Although the investigation had discovered that all these people had won some reasonably big bucks at the Red Sands, Scott had breathed a little easier when the police, as well as the casino's own security people, found no evidence that they had earned their money by cheating the casino.

His biggest problem right now was that the deaths were still unsolved. The police were stumped, and now there was a rumor that the FBI, of all things, was being called in to investigate. He was going to have to deal with the Feds - again. God, he couldn't get away from these people. And what if they started poking around his system, asking too many questions, wanting too many answers? What then? There was no way he could logically and rationally explain where he came up with the brains for his innovative little computer.

Scott only hoped that the Feds who got sent out here were pencil-pushing, by-the-book desk jockeys who'd blame the deaths on organized crime, take in the local sights, and leave without poking around too much. After all, his luck had held so far, right?

Chapter 3: True Confessions

FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.

Scully closed the door to the conference room and heaved a sigh of relief.

That had gone a lot better than she could have ever expected. Now to find her cowardly other half and fill him in on what had happened after he'd escaped from the party.

Why was praise and acceptance so difficult for him to handle? Most people genuinely liked Mulder even though they didn't understand him, and the ribbing and teasing they'd dished out this time was good-natured and well meaning. She had no doubts that he knew that. Sometimes she just couldn't understand why he couldn't recognize his own worth, why he couldn't understand what people saw and respected in him. As intelligent as he was, sometimes Mulder just didn't get it. There was absolutely nothing that this man had to be ashamed of yet he consistently accepted ridicule and blame far easier than all the good things he deserved. Perhaps it was a result of a lifetime of being told he was less than he was by his own family, by his father in particular, that this one small flaw of insecurity had been ingrained within an otherwise dynamic personality. It would take some time to undo the damage, but she loved him unconditionally... and she had a lifetime to work on it.

Dana thought her first stop should be the men's room, since that was the last place Mulder had been headed. She paused by the door just long enough to get a smart remark from Agent Carter who happened to be rounding the corner.

"What's the matter, Agent Scully? Take ole Spooky out for his morning walk and he didn't 'make'? You should know better than to let him off his leash, now he's lost." Carter sneered sarcastically. "Let me know when you find him and I'll call the pound to pick him up. Hey, if you ever get tired of foxes and want to give a real stud a chance, let me know."

Oh, this man really burned her. She raised her eyebrow coyly, stopping Carter in his tracks. "Oh yes," she whispered seductively, "I'll be sure to call you... just before I have them put you to sleep," she shot out tersely, turning sharply and leaving Carter with his mouth on the floor. where in the hell was he anyway? Why did she have to ask such a stupid question. She knew where he was - he was hiding in the basement. Skinner had given him a bone and he was going to bury it and himself under a pile of paper, printouts, photos, police reports, and interviews. These people didn't have an inkling as to what they were trying to uncover, which was why when all else failed, they dropped the case in Spooky's lap. Mulder's mind worked on another level, and they knew that as well as she did, so they covered their awe of him with barbs and snide remarks. He was brilliant and it didn't take a Ph.D. in psychology to figure out that his brilliance frightened them. Hell, sometimes it frightened her, too. But unlike some of her colleagues, she preferred to try and understand, rather than attack what was different or unusual. In this case, she'd been rewarded far beyond her wildest dreams.

Dana rode the elevator down to the basement and exited into the sparsely lit corridor that led to their basement domain. She reflected back to her first trip down this same hallway and smiled quietly as she remembered her anticipation and trepidation at being assigned to 'spooky Mulder.' She'd heard about him from just about everyone when she'd discovered that she'd been assigned to his section. Although she usually didn't give credit to idle gossip, she'd found herself just a tad anxious about working with someone that the Bureau deemed necessary to hide beneath the building.

But she'd discovered that Mulder wasn't at all what she'd expected. What she'd expected was an over-rated, overly-educated, nerdy-looking weirdo with little or no sense of humor, so she was totally unprepared for what she discovered within the walls of the small dank smelling office hidden deep within the recesses of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. He'd nearly taken her breath away and she'd needed every ounce of self-control to maintain her professional, detached demeanor. The bespectacled young man who'd finally lifted his concentrated gaze from the slides he'd been inspecting looked more like a college professor grading papers than a 'spooky... anything' and he was... well... gorgeous, plain and simple. That wasn't all, though - something else had attracted her as well. His eyes... his eyes were soft and playful, sparkling with mischief and intelligence. And when he implored her with that little silly line, "Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?' she realized even then that falling in love with him would be too easy. Should have run for the hills, Dana Katherine.

Absently rubbing her abdomen, she abandoned her little stroll down memory lane, opened their office door and wandered in. Mulder looked up at her from over top the file he was holding in his hands. God, he was still gorgeous, even with drool dripping off his chin, she thought ruefully. And he's mine, her mind added possessively, all mine. That's right, Dana, 'I am woman, hear me roar.' And they say men are territorial, hmph... Mulder raised an eyebrow at her lingering look. "What's up?" he asked, self-consciously wiping away the moisture on his chin with the back of his hand.

She eyed him with a stern expression, ignoring the disgusted look on his face as he desperately searched for something to wipe the offending body fluid off his hand. "That's what I was going to ask you. You know, it wouldn't have hurt you to stick around for a few minutes and thank those people for their concern and thoughtfulness instead of running off to hide in the basement," she snorted.

"I wasn't hiding," he protested, unconsciously moving papers about on the desk in front of him. She just stared back at him, her expression clearly saying that she didn't buy it. Okay, so he lied and she knew it. He was hiding, he admitted to himself, and he wasn't exactly sure why except that all those people centering their thoughts and emotions on him had made him uncomfortable and nervous.

"Mulder, it's me, Scully, remember? I know you. You were hiding," she replied with the conviction of familiarity.

Mulder slapped the file back down on the desk a little more forcefully than he'd intended, causing Dana to jump slightly. "Okay, guilty as charged. I... I guess I'm just not used to being the center of attention, at least where anything positive is concerned. It was embarrassing," he blushed vividly. "I did my job, the best way I knew how. That's all. Why couldn't they let it go quietly just like everything else we've done? I'm just not cut out for the spotlight, Dana. I'm not used to it and it makes me self-conscious and uncomfortable. I'm sorry if I hurt anyone's feelings. I just didn't know what to say or do," he sighed heavily.

Dana sat on the corner of his desk, careful not to sit on any of the papers he had scattered all over the top. She reached over and gently cupped his chin in her hands, carefully drawing his face forward to within inches of her own. "Better get used to the attention, Sherlock. You were born to be famous," she purred, lightly brushing his lips in a whisper of a kiss. "Oh, by the way," she mumbled, the sound of her voice nearly absorbed by his mouth hovering temptingly over hers. "Agent Carter suggested that the next time I let you off your leash and you get lost, that I should call a real stud like him and have the pound pick you up."

A light ripple of laughter escaped Mulder's throat before she felt his smile on her lips. "You tell that mongrel bastard next time you see him that I have friends in Animal Control. Ask him how he feels about being neutered."

Dana pushed away from him gently and smiled. "You're too easy Mulder," she chuckled. "I threatened to have him put to sleep."

Mulder's eyes crinkled in mirth. "That depends on your point of view. I think I can speak for most men when I say that I think I'd rather be put to sleep." Scully arched an eyebrow at him, and her smile turned a bit more seductive. "You know," Mulder continued with a seductive smile of his own, "I'd love to continue this conversation in detail later at a more opportune time so I could more fully demonstrate the reasons behind my opinion. Perhaps after work, we could get together, debate the issue and you could allow me to convince you of the advantages of remaining viable?"

Dana grinned wickedly. Oh Lord, one night away from her and his libido had kicked into overdrive. She'd learned long ago to recognize that particular glint in his eyes. Well, that and the huge bulge straining against the fly of his pants were a dead give away that Mulder's mind was not entertaining professional thoughts at the moment.

He winked at her playfully and tossed the file he'd been reading on the desk in front of her. "This is definitely an X-File, Scully, custom made. Read it over and tell me what you think. I'll go get us a flight to Reno."

"You don't need to worry about the travel arrangements. Skinner told me he'd take care of everything and all I had to do was just get you there on time and in one piece." Dana paused, considering how to broach the subject. "Mulder..." she began.

He looked up to see her chewing on her bottom lip, but she didn't say anything right away. "What?" he finally asked. Although he was still distracted by the faint scent of her perfume and the warmth of her body so tantalizingly close to him, a small alarm began sounding in his head. She was stalling about something, and she only stalled when she had something unpleasant to say. "What's wrong, Dana?" he asked again.

She lowered her eyes. "Skinner knows about us... about the baby," she whispered softly.

"What," he repeated in a choked voice, panic showing clearly on his face.

His previous arousal suffered a sudden crash and burn..

Dana reached out to caress his cheek. "It's all right," she said, trying to reassure him. "Actually, I think he's known for quite a while. He found out for certain about us by accident when I lost my ring in the conference room and he found it. He read the inscription, Mulder and the man has no problem adding one plus one, so I told him about the baby."

"I just wish you'd talked to me first," Mulder said, realizing as soon as the words were out of his mouth that Dana had said the same thing to him many times before.

"It was a judgment call, Mulder," she replied. "Besides, I trust him. We have to trust him. Sooner or later we're going to need someone on our side who's on the inside and in a position to help us."

Mulder still was a little more pale than he should have been. "Are you sure about this?" he asked not quite convinced.

"No," Dana admitted. "I just don't think we have any other choice. He could've blown the whistle but he didn't. That's all I know... that and I think he likes my mom," she said with a crooked smile.

"What?!?" he managed to sputter one more time.

"Mulder, are you entering your second childhood? I swear your vocabulary is shrinking."

"Your mother???" he gasped. Oh, no. He hoped it was nothing serious. He really cared about Margaret, maybe even more than his own mother, he thought with just a little guilt. What's the matter with you, jerk? Skinner's a decent guy. He's pulled your butt out of a few jams and he came to run the show himself when he thought you were in trouble. Lighten up. Dana scowled at him. "What's the matter? Don't you think my mother is capable of attracting men? She's not that old," Dana muttered with exasperation.

Leaning backward in his chair, Mulder took a stab at damage control. "No, of course she's not old. Your mother's a very attractive woman and if I was twenty years older, I might've gone after her myself," he teased with a devilish grin. As usual, he'd managed to put his foot in it again and now had to maneuver his way back to solid ground.

A delicate eyebrow arched quickly with suspicion. "Laying it on a little thick, aren't we, Mulder?"

"With a trowel," he admitted with his typical boyish charm and a wink of an eye. She found herself grinning in spite of her best efforts to maintain a stern expression.

"I'm sorry, but somehow I find even the remote possibility of having to call Skinner 'dad' slightly unnerving," Mulder explained out loud. What he didn't say was that in some ironic way, Skinner couldn't possibly be any worse of a dad than what mother nature had seen fit to provide for him.

Though Mulder knew he'd been a constant source of irritation to the AD, he was fairly certain that at least Skinner didn't hate him, which was more than he could have said about his own father.

There he goes, jumping to conclusions again, Dana thought. "Mulder, all I said was that I thought he 'liked' her. You don't need to go off the deep end." She smoothed a lock of hair off his face, then looked deeply into his eyes. "Care to tell me the real reason that possibility disturbs you?"

Mulder fidgeted for several seconds while trying to put his thoughts in order. "It's just that being associated with AD Skinner could be hazardous to your mom's health," he finally said. "You know the kind of people we have to deal with, the enemies this line of work attracts, Dana." Mulder used the most diplomatic tone he could muster, hoping that she would just drop the subject. Fat chance. Why did his off hand remark seem to affect her so deeply?

Dana slid off the side of his desk, then slowly spun his chair around until he faced her. She leaned into him until their noses nearly touched. "You mean like being 'associated' with you?" she whispered hoarsely.

The hint of a smile vanished from Mulder's lips, dissipating like the morning mist at sunrise. His eyes took on a familiar haunted expression and Dana immediately regretted the words as soon as she'd uttered them. Why did she say something so obviously stupid? This particular subject had always been a sore spot with Mulder and being reminded of their vulnerability was the last thing he needed right now.

"You're right, Dana... You're absolutely right. There is no difference, no goddamn difference at all," he conceded darkly. "Why did I ever allow myself to fall in love with you?" he asked in a desolate voice.

"You couldn't help yourself," Dana smiled wryly as she claimed his hand with her own. "Mulder, do you have any regrets?" she asked in a more serious tone.

His mood lightened slightly at the sight of the one smile that never failed to melt his heart, yet his eyes still held shadows of guilt and fear. "Of course I have regrets..."

Dana's head snapped up suddenly as a cold wave of panic tightened its fist around her heart.

One corner of his mouth turned up slightly. "But not about us," he reassured her with a gentle smile. "Although being alone was easier on my conscience," he admitted, "but it wasn't nearly as satisfying." Mulder squeezed her hand gently. "Before I met you, there was nothing for them to hold over me, no one for them to use against me. Now... well, now there is. Now I have a price, Dana - I can be bought. And it doesn't take a fucking Rhodes scholar to figure out what that price is."

Dana knew where this conversation was heading and made an attempt to cut him off at the pass. "Mulder, you are not the only member of law enforcement with a family to protect. Agents' families are always at risk.

It's part of who we are and what we do. You know that, mom knows that, and so do I."

Mulder bent forward over his knees, flexed his large, elegant hands, and studied the lines in his palms as though they held some long, lost secret of the universe. "Dana," he whispered softly with an intensity that punctuated his emotions more forcefully than yelling could have ever done. "We are not normal law enforcement. Normal agents aren't bugged by their own fucking government. They aren't kidnapped and brain-drained because they saw too much, nor are they attacked by sexually morphing, pheromone manipulating beings for the purpose of lethal copulation. They definitely aren't bound, beaten and exposed to alien genetic mutations oozing caustic, green blood either, or abducted, experimented on and left for dead. There is no way in hell that what we do comes anywhere near the realm of normalcy."

Staring down at the top of his bowed head, Dana lightly ran a finger through the silky dark hair and gently caressed the side of his face. He turned his worried gaze toward her until she could look deeply into his loving eyes. She could sense as well as see an unspoken fear held in check within their depths. "That's all true, and all reasons for us to be careful. But you haven't told me everything," she said.

He slowly shook his head 'no' as a single tear trickled down his cheek.

"The truth, then," she implored in a voice that reinforced the fact that she would not be denied. Kneeling down before him, she placed both hands firmly on his knees and unflinchingly held his eyes with her own. "I deserve to hear the truth."

"Oh, Dana, you deserve so much more than the truth, so much more than I can ever give you," he didn't want to say out loud what lived in the back of his mind, kept him awake nights, fearing that if he actually said the words they might come true. But he owed her the truth, at least, no matter how difficult it was to put into words. "I..." his voice cracked with bottled up anxiety kept hidden for far too long, and he took a deep breath before he continued, "I carry an unknown viral antigen in my blood. You... harbor unexplained remnants of branched DNA in yours. Over the past few years, we've been exposed to God knows what. What if our children aren't.... normal? What if sometime in the future the beings who took Sam come back for my children?"

"Mulder, that's not going to happen. We're not going to let that happen.

And as far as our child being normal, all the test results have come back normal so far, so I'd stop worrying about what if's or you're going to drive yourself crazy." Dana studied his face for a moment. "But that's not all that's bothering you, is it?"

Mulder sat back in his chair. "What if I'm a rotten father?" he blurted out.

Dana nearly laughed out loud, but the look on his face was so sincere that she stifled the urge. So that was at the heart of all his worries. Even after naming all the legitimate concerns he'd just rattled off, the thing that really bothered him was whether he'd be able to cut it as someone's dad. "Mulder, you're going to be a wonderful father," she tried to reassure him.

"How do you know?" he asked. "I can't even handle babysitting without a major crisis setting in."

"You're terrific with Catie's kids," Dana said. "You're just a disaster in the kitchen, and I don't intend to let you near mine."

"But Dana - I don't even know how a father's supposed to act. Being a babysitter is simple - just keep the kids occupied and out of trouble. But a dad? I really never had a viable role model for that one. My dad tended to be insensitive and overly severe in the discipline department - not someone in whose steps I'd want to follow."

"Overly severe?" Dana stammered with anger. "The man abused you both mentally and physically. Why can't you just come out and say it?" But he just sat there stone-faced, refusing, like so many abused children, to admit that he hadn't deserved the abuse, that he had been a victim of someone who was supposed to love and care for him. For his own sake, as well as theirs as a family, she couldn't let this go on. "Mulder, this isn't healthy.

You've got to stop making excuses for him and stop trying to justify what he did to you."

"I can't."

"You were just a little kid, Mulder. You didn't deserve it. He beat you. He abused you." Dana saw him flinch and it was only the knowledge that the longer this stayed buried, the more damage it did to his psyche that gave her the strength to keep after him. "You didn't deserve the kind of punishment your dad handed out. You've got to believe that. You were a victim. Say it."

"No."

"He abused you. Say it!"

Mulder's hands trembled involuntarily and a sound halfway between a growl and a moan escaped his lips. "OK, ok, the bastard beat the living, fucking shit out of me whenever he got he opportunity. Is that what you want me to say? And then when hitting me wasn't possible, he made it abundantly clear what a curse I was to his life. And the funniest part," he gasped in a muted sob, "is that I still love him, and all I ever wanted was to know that he loved me, too, or if that was too much for him, I at least wanted his approval and respect. But the son of a bitch wouldn't even give me that much." Mulder stopped and looked at the floor, the wall, anywhere but at her face. "You know what they say - abused children become abusive parents. God, I'm so afraid, Dana. I'm scared shitless that I'll become like him. I couldn't handle that. I just couldn't."

Dana reached out and turned his face back toward hers. "Listen to me. You are not like him, Mulder. I know your dark sides. I've seen them. And even in your darkness, you could never be like him. Never. It's just not in you.

The simple fact that the possibility frightens you is proof enough to me that it would never happen. The man I love would put his hand through a wall rather than harm a child in anger. I Know this. Trust me, believe me, and leave this grief behind you. There's too much happiness ahead." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "I promise."

Mulder took her in his arms and held on tight like a drowning man to a life ring. The pain in his mouth temporarily forgotten, his lips found hers and his heart soared with joy. Maybe with Dana in his life he could unlearn all the painful lessons his father taught him, and he could learn to no longer fear 'what ifs.' Reluctantly, Mulder eased his arms from around her waist and removed his head from the comforting warmth of her breasts against his face. The calming effect of her scent still lingered in his nostrils, once more slaying the dragons that threatened to reduce his soul to ash and cinder.

Dana felt the tension slip from his body as he carefully pulled away from her. Sensing there was something else he'd wanted to discuss with her, she remained silent, curiously questioning him with her eyes, patiently waiting for whatever disclosure he was willing to make. She'd pushed him enough for one morning, and besides, she knew he was going to tell her. Exactly how she knew this was unclear. She only knew that she did sense it and accepted the silent form of understood communication without reservation as a part of their uncanny closeness.

Mulder knew she was waiting for him to divulge what else was bothering him. She always knew when something weighed heavily on his mind. After everything else they'd just discussed, you'd think he would have no problem broaching this topic. However, there was a problem. After much recent soul-searching regarding their future, he'd just taken it upon himself to make a major decision that directly concerned Dana without consulting with her first. That little lapse in sanity alone could quite possibly cost him the use of his left testicle for at least a week. She would no doubt be livid.

He winced at the thought of getting used to talking a few octaves higher while trying to figure out a way to explain everything without sounding trite, cheap, or God forbid... convenient.

The idea had crystallized as soon as he realized that their new case would be sending them to Reno. He'd made a few calls and confirmed that it was possible, and now it was not only possible but he'd already set it in motion, and there was no turning back - was there? Maybe he could convince her, once they arrived in Reno, that what he had planned was a spur of the moment thing. Hey, that would be romantic, right? Oh yeah, sure, trying to lie to Dana would be an unproductive exercise in futility. Haven't you learned anything? he chided himself. One look in your eyes and she'd know the truth and instead of being just angry, she'd be hurt and angry that you didn't confide your intentions to her. No, Mulder... You're out of your league. You've never been dishonest with her before, so now is not the time to start. Just tell her what you've done and hope to hell she doesn't kill you before you can spill your guts.

Mulder glanced at her nervously and cleared his throat. He knew better than to pull shit like this, but he'd done it anyway. Sometimes he was his own worst enemy.

The longer he stalled, the more anxious Dana got. Uh oh, she thought, the guilty puppy look was plastered all over his face, eyes all soft and mournful. This could only mean one thing. Whatever he had to tell her had the potential to royally piss her off and he knew it. Dana eyed him suspiciously and finally could stand it no longer. "Spit it out, Mulder."

"I've been doing a lot of thinking..." he began slowly.

Oh no, Mulder's been thinking again. Boy, are we in trouble now> she snickered to herself. "And?"

"And, uh, when I found out we were going to Reno on this one, I called a friend I met while investigating a demonic possession case a few years ago and... uh... made some arrangements," he said while drumming his pen annoyingly against the desk top.

"What kind of arrangements - specifically?" she coaxed, unsure of whether she really wanted to know.

"Wedding arrangements," he whispered, quickly picking up the thick file and raising it in front of his face just in case she decided to throw something at him. Dana had an incredibly accurate aim and he wasn't taking any chances. Of course, as soon as this disturbing thought skidded across his mind, he remembered another part of his anatomy that wasn't protected by his desk, and he dropped his paper armor to cover that more sensitive spot.

"What?!?" she asked, her voice rising to a strident pitch. She'd entertained several different scenarios in her head but this hadn't been one of them.

Ooooo, Fox Mulder, you've over-stepped yourself this time, Sweetcheeks.

Dana fumed silently for a few moments, the blood suddenly rushing to her face, as she waited for her voice to come back. "How could you make plans about something so important without even asking me first? How could you possibly do that?? Don't you have a clue as to how important my wedding would be to me? How could you, Mulder?"

Mulder opened his mouth in an attempt to answer the questions that were flying at him at warp speed but he was waved aside by a small angry hand and never got the chance.

By this time Dana was pacing back and forth in the small space between their desks. "Jesus, Mulder, what about my mother and the family? Daddy always wanted to give me away and now that's impossible, but I thought that at least Mom, Melissa, and the boys could be there. But Reno?? God, Mulder, you've got to know that there is no way in hell I want to get married in some cheap wedding chapel complete with ugly, pink neon hearts, slot machines in the waiting room and a minister who doubles as an Elvis impersonator. A wedding day should be special, and I've always imagined that mine would be special, in church, surrounded by my family and friends, not some goddamn three-ring circus." She stopped pacing, rounding on him, her eyes bright and furious, two angry spots of red lighting up her cheeks. "And why are you in such a hurry anyway? Are you afraid of what people might think - what they'll say when things get a little more obvious?"

When Dana stopped for breath, she suddenly noticed the hurt look that had settled on his features. This time the look was genuine, not the blatantly manufactured one he so often used as a comic plea for sympathy.

Wait a minute. Maybe she'd gone too far. Mulder had never been one to care about what people thought or said, at least not when it was being said about him. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe this wasn't about him or them. It was about her and their child.

"Are you finished?" he spoke so softly that she'd barely heard the words.

Now her cheeks burned red with embarrassment and shame. "Oh, Fox - I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You know I didn't mean that," she choked out quietly as salty tears glistened in her eyes and ran snail-like down her cheeks.

"God, what's wrong with me?" Sure, she'd been angry with him before and had even yelled a few times, but never had she ever blasted him while in such an emotional jag.

"There's nothing wrong with you - you're just pregnant," he muttered with a muted smile and a sigh. "Besides, you're right. It was a dumb thing to do and you have every right to be angry. I should have asked you first, tried to explain things, and saved both of us from a major misunderstanding and a lot of unnecessary grief. I'm sorry."

"OK, so do you want to explain it to me now?" she asked.

Mulder took a deep breath, raised himself stiffly from his chair and walked over in front of Dana. "You'd better sit down," he began, placing both hands on her shoulders and gently pushing her into a sitting position on the edge of his desk. A tiny frown line creased Dana's forehead, ruining the carefully benign look he knew she was searching for. He knew she was trying to make it easier for him to say whatever it was he had to say, not knowing exactly what to expect. Jesus, he felt like such a jerk having to bring this up, after everything else they'd just said, but there was no time like the present. Funny, after two years of being together, all of a sudden he felt rushed, like he had to put all his cards on the table so she would know exactly what she was getting into. He guessed a baby on the way could do that to a person. Now if he could just think of a tactful way to bring the subject up.

Still looking for a place to start, he began pacing the floor in front of his his desk. "Dana..." he began, staring at her from beneath thickly lashed, hooded eyes. Still that intent, 'I'm listening but not judging' look from her, full of love and compassion for him. Imagine -- for him, Fox Mulder, odd man out at the FBI, or anywhere else, for that matter. Geek of the week in high school, that damn Yank in college. How could she possibly love him that much? All of a sudden he felt shy, undeserving of her love, and he lowered his gaze to the floor. Apparently studying the toes of his shoes, he gave the impression of a man who was carefully choosing his words. "As you know, I live... uh... modestly..."

Dana almost laughed with relief. So this was about money? Didn't he know that money wasn't a concern to her? Her mom and dad didn't have that much when they'd started out but they had each other and somehow they'd managed. It would work out. "Money doesn't matter, Mulder. Everything will work out fine. Trust me." She smiled warmly.

"You're absolutely correct. Money isn't going to be a problem, at least not in the way you're thinking," he commented in voice filled with irony.

Now she was really confused.

"Dana, I live the way I do out of choice and habit, not out of necessity. If I needed something, I got it, but I just didn't need that much." He shrugged his shoulders. "People knew my parents live in the Vineyard, and if somebody asked, I'd just say that they live 'comfortably.'"

Dana was numb. This wasn't exactly the type of conversation about money she'd expected to be having with Mulder. In fact, she'd envisioned heated arguments about the cost of Armani suits versus the rising cost of diapers and daycare. All of a sudden she was glad she was sitting down.

"When we became close, several years ago, I made my dad's lawyer change my will. You know," he paused thoughtfully, "I've had a will ever since I was eighteen. I always thought that was really morbid, but I guess it was necessary," he risked a brief glance in her direction, then continued staring at his shoes. "Anyway, I'd left everything to you."

"Mulder..." Dana murmured. Only Fox Mulder would think to do a thing like that.

Mulder smiled at her. "You're a much better heir than the Lone Gunmen."

She reached out to smack him on the leg, but he caught her hand and held it. "And a couple of days after Valentine's Day, after you agreed to marry me, I took the will to my lawyer to make sure everything was in order and that you would be provided for. That's when I found out what my dad's lawyer failed to mention. Because you're not legally related to me, the will could be contested by my family at any time and there's a chance they could win. I have no doubts that my dad would drag you through the mud if he could. Dana, if anything were to happen to me right now, there's a good chance that you'd be left with nothing except my life insurance and my child."

Mulder moved in front of her, placing himself before her like an immovable fortress. Loving fingertips gently traced her jawline and gently lifted her chin upward until their eyes met with an intensity of emotion that threatened to overwhelm them both. "Dana Katherine Scully," he whispered with hoarse passion, "I love you more than life. Whatever I have is yours and nobody is going to take that from you or my child. Nobody. In my heart, I've been married to you since that first night when I left the rose on your pillow. And if it didn't take a ceremony and a lousy piece of paper to keep the vultures away from you, it wouldn't matter to me if society called us legal or not. I am, and always have been yours. I don't need a document to tell me that, but the law of the land says it's required to prove it to everybody else. If you don't like Reno, marry me here. If you don't want my friend to marry us, get Marvin the Martian - I don't care. We can do the whole thing over again later for your family if you want. I can't concentrate on this case or anything else while I'm worrying about this, so just humor me, okay?"

Dana's eyes were brimming with tears. "Fox Mulder, I love you. You know that. And I am not going to let anything happen to you. You got that?

Money notwithstanding. So, exactly how much of an earthly fortune are we talking about here, Sherlock, that would turn people into vultures?"

"A few mil," he mumbled under his breath with seeming embarrassment.

"What?!?" she choked. The way he'd talked, she'd expected maybe a small estate, or trust fund, something comfortable but not overwhelming, but nothing like this. Considering the simple way he'd lived, she'd come to think of him more or less as teetering on the edge of poverty. Come on the man didn't even own a car and the only extravagance she could detect was a serious leaning toward expensive clothes, and the purchase of a certain overpriced engagement ring and band.

"Now whose vocabulary is shrinking?" he asked with a sardonic grin.

"Does this friend of yours in Reno have a name?" she asked after finally finding her voice.

Mulder grinned impishly. Maybe he'd get his way this time. "Father Thomas Collins. Yes, he's a real priest, it's his real name and he has a real church in Reno."

"Oh, that's just grand. Our marriage certificate is going to be signed by Tom Collins. No, no, don't tell me! I bet our witness will be um.... Sister Bloody Mary. I need a drink."

"Dana!" Mulder exclaimed indignantly. "You know you can't drink." One eyebrow crawled up slowly to take its place beneath the ever present lock of unruly hair that persistently hung over his forehead, while one corner of his mouth quirked up reluctantly into a half grin. "Hey, when it's all over, we can have some sex on the beach."

Was he serious? Sometimes with Mulder, it was difficult to tell whether she should actually take him literally or if he was just yanking her chain. After studying him for several minutes, she concluded that this response at least, was a definite 'chain yanking.' "Ha Ha, Mulder, Yes, I know... it's a drink and even if it wasn't, Reno is in the desert. There is no beach, unless you want to go to Lake Tahoe, and at this time of the year, I wouldn't recommend wearing a bathing suit on those shores, much less having sex there unless you want to freeze something off."

"We could find a hot tub and pretend," his rich deep voice purred hypnotically. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. "Does this mean that you'll consider getting married tonight?" he asked hopefully. He truly didn't want to pressure her into anything but somehow just knowing that they were not only morally and spiritually one, but legally bound as well would make him feel a whole lot more secure in the fact that all that he had was hers and nobody, not even his family, could take that away from her should anything happen to him. This was important.

"Mulder, mom will be totally ticked off that she won't be there, not to mention the rest of the family. But if you feel that strongly about it - yeah, sure, I'd marry you anywhere, Fox Mulder, anywhere at all. What's in a place? What's in a time? It's what's in your heart that's important and I have no doubts as to what's in yours." Her deep abiding love, tinged with a current of passion, was clear in her low velvety voice. She smiled warmly when she spied the wide effortless grin that suddenly encompassed Mulder's face like a ray of sunshine after a heavy rain. He reminded her somewhat of a naughty child who expected to find coal in his stocking but discovered forgiveness instead, and at this moment he looked just like a little boy who'd been told there really was a Santa Claus. Then again, she was sure Mulder already knew all about Santa Claus, as well as the existence of a six foot Easter Bunny that laid colored eggs. Dana couldn't understand what he was so worried about. He'd make a great daddy. He'd always listen to his child in innocence, and more than likely believe that there actually were monsters under the bed.

Mulder suddenly seemed full of more energy than he knew how to handle.

He practically bounded toward the door. "Guess we'd better pick up those tickets," he said happily as he plopped the case folder on her desk. "I hope Skinner didn't set us up in another Raid Roach Motel. I'm getting damn tired of having to tip the head roach to hang up my coat," he quipped softly as she watched his lean form retreat through the door and amble down the hallway. She could have sworn when he turned the corner by the elevator that he was humming a selection from 'My Fair Lady,' something about getting married in the morning.

Dana shook her head slowly. Mulder could sometimes be so damn irritating that she could strangle him, yet most of the time he was just plain endearing. It never ceased to amaze her that a man who'd seen and experienced as much of the vile, evil, and unnatural cruelty that one human being could inflict on another as he had, could still be so innocently naive as he often was. Perhaps that's what made him so good at his job. Every case was a new adventure, another challenge - a chance to make a difference where no chance seemed obvious or possible. Making a difference was important to Mulder and she realized that every case he managed to solve lifted some unseen burden from the weight of responsibility he felt was his to carry. God, she loved him.

Chapter 4: Luck, Lies, Teddy Bears, And Pillow Fights

Red Sands Hotel/Casino
Reno, Nevada
5:45 a.m.

Texas Bob Harris leaned far out over the green felt, shuffled the dice around in his closed hand, blew once for good luck and threw the small plastic squares energetically down the table. "Yes!" he yelled. "Another lucky throw from the man from Austin!"

The croupier rounded up the dice and deposited them in front of Bob. He leaned out over the rail to retrieve part of his winnings and place another bet on the table. Well hidden by his bulk, no one saw him lift a handful of his neighbor's gaming tokens from the rail and place them with his own chips.

"Here you go, sir," his cocktail waitress said, handing him a cup of coffee.

"Just how you like it."

"Well, thank you little lady," Bob said, placing a $5 chip on her tray.

Sabrina grinned back at him. The guy had been winning all night and still was, by the looks of things. "You need anything else, honey, you just ask for Sabrina," she purred. As she left the table, she put a little extra motion in her hips, knowing that the man's eyes would be on her rear end. Hey, if it made for good tips and wasn't outlawed, why the hell not?

Texas Bob risked a glance at the gambler next to him. Unlike Bob, this guy hadn't switched to coffee in the wee small hours of the morning and was about as sloshed as you could get and still be standing. It made the pickings easy. But there weren't all that many people left at the table, and one thing he'd learned was to know when to quit. "Anybody else want to try their luck?" he asked, holding the dice out to his neighbor. The man slurred his thanks, then nearly fell over the rail when he made his throw. "You take care there, pardner," Bob said, patting the guy on the back. "I guess I'll just have to cash in while I'm still ahead."

At this time of the morning, the casino was pretty much deserted and Texas Bob didn't have much of a wait while the cashier counted his chips and transformed them into cold, hard cash. Shit, he thought to himself, I never thought cheating could be this easy. And to think I learned it all from watching the fucking Discovery Channel. What a hoot. This had been the third casino he'd been to and no one had even suspected or questioned him.

Texas Bob was a rail thief, a skill he'd learned by watching a videotape taken by casino security cameras in one of the new, high-tech Las Vegas casinos. He'd watched as security had zoomed in on a man stealing chips from the person next to him on the rail of a craps table, but the guy had been stupid. He hadn't known about the security camera over his head and hadn't taken any precautions to cover his actions. But Bob had watched, and watched closely. Hundreds of times, courtesy of his handy dandy VCR.

He'd taught himself how to duplicate the thief's actions, refining them, and finally he'd taped himself making the moves from every possible angle until he'd learned how to sneak his neighbor's chips without being seen from any camera angle. Sometimes it paid to be big and flabby. All that bulk covered a multitude of sins.

The next thing Bob had learned was how to spot a mark, someone with a bundle of cash who was still intent on gambling but too drunk to notice when a few chips were missing. But that had come easy to him - after all, he'd been doing that in one form or another for years. First he'd sold insurance door to door, then gone on to any of a number of get-rich-quick-schemes, and he'd always been able to spot a mark. It seemed appropriate, somehow, that he'd ended up as a car salesman, and he'd been good at it. He'd made salesman of the year more than once, but that was too much like work. This - now this was the ticket. Easy money.

Ten grand in only an hour, he marveled. "Sure can't beat that with a stick," he remarked while stuffing the cash in the bulging money belt around his waist.

Silently, electronic eyes watched the big man with the large belly and more than apparent bad taste in clothes. They had watched him play at the craps table, had watched him cash in his winnings. Their unique brain calculated the amount of money he had wagered and won, counted the number of chips he had cashed in, and had determined that the amounts did not match.

The eyes quietly panned and zoomed to follow him on his way through the casino, watched him stop at the gift shop for a candy bar and a newspaper, watched as he dodged waitresses and other patrons on his way to the exit.

A silent electronic alarm was triggered. This was wrong. This was what its programming interpreted as a perpetrator, an individual it was programmed to recognize as a cheater. Security must be notified.

Texas Bob paid for his Baby Ruth and the morning paper with another $5 bill, and told the cashier to keep the change. Strange guy, Bob thought with a shiver. Awfully pale complexion for someone who lives in the desert. Must have some albino in his blood somewhere. Come to think of it, the woman stocking the shelves wasn't much tanner, either. And their eyes were strange, very dark and sort of blank looking. Bob got another chill. If his mother had been there, she would have said a goose just walked over his grave or some other hillbilly nonsense. Hell, he'd probably just been cooped up inside too long. Maybe he needed something a little more substantial in his belly than just a candy bar. Low blood sugar, he thought with a laugh. What a hoot.

Texas Bob left the Red Sands through the doorway next to the gift shop, exiting into the alleyway between the Red Sands and its neighboring casino. The sky was just beginning to get light. "Gotta be a Denny's around here somewhere," he grumbled. Then he remembered - he'd passed one only a few blocks away. All this successful gambling had made him work up a Texas sized appetite, and the more he thought about it, the more his stomach was rumbling for a stack of pancakes smothered in syrup with a couple of eggs over easy on the side. And hash browns - couldn't forget the hash browns. Sure, there was a coffee shop in the casino, and the food there was probably just as good, but it had gotten to be a habit with Bob to go to Denny's after a successful night at the tables, and he was just superstitious enough not to want to push his luck.

So Texas Bob turned and headed for the end of the alleyway and the street beyond. A slight burning sensation suddenly began to permeate his chest.

"Can't be heartburn," the big man rumbled out loud. "All I had was the damn candy bar." Something was wrong with his eyes. The sky looked suddenly darker, the neon lights burning brighter - garishly, almost obscenely bright in the suddenly darkened sky. The slight burning suddenly became a raging fire, doubling the Texan over in pain as he uselessly grabbed at his chest, ripping his shirt in the process. The light stabbed at his eyes, and he could no longer see the street beyond the alley. 'The wages of sin...' a shadowy voiced whispered inside his tortured brain. Stumbling for several feet, he screamed in agony as his bulky body collapsed to the pavement, writhing with convulsive spasms as a sudden flash of light pierced his twitching flesh then disappeared into the early morning air.

Just exiting from the employee entrance at the other end of the alley, Lily Morgan dropped her purse and began to scream just as an unidentifiable shadow melted into the darkness.

Dulles International Airport
10:00 a.m.

The yellow cab screeched to a sudden halt in front of the Delta Airlines terminal. Frazzled skycaps descended upon their luggage like flies buzzing a roadkill carcass. Quite possibly the biggest man Mulder had ever seen pushed his way through the ocean of tan uniforms, lifted both garment bags from Mulder's shoulder, and hauled Dana's overstuffed suitcase from the trunk of the cab and onto a rolling cart like it was a bag of groceries. A lightly-stuffed one at that.

Hauling his own suitcase onto the cart, Mulder stared briefly at the man in amazement. This guy has biceps as big as my goddamn thigh> he thought idly. Bet the bastard bench presses fucking engine blocks in his spare time for fun and relaxation. Of course, his ego wasn't satisfied with just that hint of envy. Oh, no, not Fox Mulder's inner voice. It had to remind him that it had taken him three tries to get the same suitcase into the damn trunk not less than twenty minutes ago. He didn't know exactly what she'd packed but whatever the hell it was, it'd nearly given him a hernia. Hell, you're still recovering from your injuries, he rationalized. Yeah, sure, whatever, his inner voice piped up. Right, Mulder, you wimp. It'd probably take the entire combined air inventory of every gas station in the District to pump you up.

Taking note of Dana's admiring glance directed toward Mr. Neanderthal, Fox decided that he needed to put a little more effort into getting back into shape.

The skycap checked their tickets and pulled tags for their luggage.

"Checking through to Reno, Sir?" the skycap asked, his voice a deep, rich baritone. He waited for Mulder's response, pen in hand, but Mulder was staring off into the ozone. "Sir?" the man repeated, politely tapping Mulder on the shoulder and bringing his attention back into focus.

"Uh, yes, Reno," Mulder replied, handing the skycap several bills.

The skycap finished tagging their luggage, then smiled at Dana with what Mulder considered just a little too much generosity and friendliness. He couldn't believe it when she returned the smile with an open friendly one of her own.

For her part, Dana couldn't help but notice the slight frown that tugged at the corners of Mulder's very sensual mouth. Jesus, was he jealous? She giggled to herself. This one beautiful man could do more for her ego than a dozen muscle-bound body builders could ever hope for. She'd been feeling a little pudgy, bloated, and not just a little... well... unattractive until just now. With one slight downward curve of his lip, Mulder had just managed to make her feel like the most beautiful woman on earth. Indulging herself, she purposely prolonged her gaze at Mr. Muscle's retreating derriere as he moved through the terminal with their bags in tow.

"Ahem." Mulder cleared his throat noisily.

Dana tried, not too successfully, to wipe the smirk from her face before turning toward him. "What?" she asked, the picture of innocence.

Mulder opened his mouth to comment but was interrupted once again as she stepped into him and allowed the folds of his trench coat to surround her. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Sherlock," she snickered playfully.

"I was just looking. Besides, you've got the muscle where it really counts."

While concealed by his coat, Dana reached down, gave him a gentle, yet firm squeeze, then looked up with delight as his eyes widened in surprise.

"I know what I've got," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Dana! Jesus!" he whispered with controlled urgency. Looking around nervously, his face deepened to a noticeable crimson hue. "We're in the middle of an airport... on a case, for crissakes!"

"So?" she questioned him trying to hold back her laughter. For a man who'd once engaged in a steady diet of adult videos, he could still be down right shy at times.

"So, our plane leaves in fifteen minutes and I don't want to have to explain to Skinner that we missed it because you were giving me a handjob in front of the baggage check," he deadpanned. He grabbed her free hand and lead her through the concourse. "What have I gotten myself into?" he wondered out loud.

"Nothing that you can't handle," Dana assured him.

They made it to their departure gate just as the last call for their flight echoed through the building. In fact, Dana noted, they were the very last people in line for boarding passes.

"Oh, god, Mulder. We'll probably get stuck on the bulkhead or in the exit aisle. I'm sorry... You're going to have to be all cramped up again."

"S'okay. I'm used to it. Besides, it's only two hours to Atlanta. What about you?" he asked with concern.

"Oh, I'll be alright. I'm not the one with morning sickness, remember?"

Mulder groaned. "Thanks. You had to remind me, didn't you?" She snickered at him, but her eyes were full of good humor and he grinned back at her. "You know, it's pretty damn ludicrous to have to travel two hours south just to travel another four hours west."

"It could be worse, you know. At least we're on a commercial airline, not a military transport. Although I never have been able to figure out how the airlines plan their schedules."

"I don't think there is any planning involved," Mulder replied. "I bet if aliens ever did show up in a big way, they'd probably all be routed through Atlanta first, after of course having their gates changed and their flights delayed." Mulder looked at the line for boarding passes, and then at the ticket agent at the gate, and came to a decision. "Listen, you shouldn't have to be uncomfortable. I don't want you to be uncomfortable. Why don't you wait here and I'll go see if I can upgrade these tickets to first class. After all, it's not like I can't afford it."

Dana watched as he quickly walked over to the counter and handed the agent their tickets. They spoke quietly for a few moments, then he returned to the line boarding the plane, a puzzled look on his face.

Dana touched his arm. "Mulder, what's wrong? If they can't bump us up, it's ok. The people in the back of the plane will make it to Reno at the same time as the people in the front."

"No, that's not it," he mumbled, still in a little bit of confusion.

"Then what is it?" she asked.

"I never took a close look at these things," he informed her while he handed the tickets to the flight attendant. "These tickets were purchased for Fox and Dana Mulder, and they're first class."

Dana's eyebrows rose in surprise. First class? It was a sure bet Skinner's assistant hadn't made the reservations.

"Skinner didn't mention anything to me about being undercover on this one," Mulder said. "And we both know the Bureau would never approve of first class seats, not for lowly field agents, anyway. What the hell is going on?" he asked as they settled down into the wide leather seats, their carry-ons stored neatly overhead.

Dana shook her head at him. "Mulder, sometimes you ask too many damn questions. Why can't you just accept our good fortune and enjoy it?"

"Because..." Mulder surveyed the people around them with exaggerated paranoia. "Our good fortune, as you so aptly put it, usually ends up sneaking around and biting us in the ass," he whispered in a hoarse, conspiring tone.

Dana found herself snuggling down into the soft leather seat and sighed with contentment. "Relax, Mulder. This is probably just an early wedding gift from Skinner, bless him. Perhaps it's his unofficial blessing before he makes us toe the line."

"In other words..." he gave her one of his goofy smiles, "take it while you can get it cause there'll be hell to pay soon enough."

"Exactly," she confirmed.

"All right, fine. I'll overlook this minor aberration of Bureau policy and congenially accept the fact that I can actually stretch out my legs without fear of having my feet chopped off by the passenger in front of me."

Reno, Nevada
7:30 a.m.

Lily Morgan's hands were still shaking. Somehow she'd managed to drive home, although she couldn't remember doing so. She'd been on auto pilot the whole way, body taking over while her mind replayed the scene over and over again.

God, that poor man. Lily checked the door for the tenth time to make sure that it was locked, then walking over to the window to peek out the curtains, certain that this time she would see a police car parked in front of her apartment building.

The man was dead. After what she'd seen, there was no question that he was dead. She could still smell the singed flesh, feel the crackle of electricity that had been in the air. How he'd died, now that was a big question. She couldn't possibly have seen what she thought she did. That was just her imagination, it had to be. Things like that just didn't happen in real life. No way, no how. In the movies, maybe, but not in real life. She was just tired, seeing things that weren't really there. Too much caffeine and not enough sleep, and her imagination running overtime, like it was now.

That was it. It didn't really happen that way. But if it didn't really happen like that, how did he die? "Think, Lily, think," she muttered to herself. She saw it, she had to know what really happened. A man died, right in front of her eyes. Dead, definitely dead. Dead as a doornail. Dead as Larry....No, she would not think about that. She absolutely refused to think about that. That part of her life was over and done with, had happened to another Lily Morgan in another lifetime, not to the Lily Morgan she was today.

Her studio apartment was small, basically one multipurpose living room/bedroom/kitchen/dining room rolled into one, with just a small bathroom off the main area. Lily paced the small space, checking the door lock each time she passed, pausing before the window. For the first time since she'd quit smoking, she really wished she had a cigarette.

Lily knew that she shouldn't have left the scene. She should have stayed and given a statement to the police. But a statement about what? They sure as hell wouldn't believe her if she told them what she saw. They might start digging into her past and there was no way she could chance it. And now her over-active imagination was supplying police cars where there were none, playing out interrogation scenes that always ended the same way with her in jail for murder.

God, she wanted a cigarette.

Dulles International Airport
10:30 a.m.

Mulder felt a familiar light-headed euphoria as the plane lifted from the runway and climbed to its allotted cruising altitude. As usual, they'd been delayed on the ground waiting for their turn to be cleared for take-off. All that rushing around the terminal, only to sit on the tarmac for a half hour.

And since everything had to be stored for takeoff, he couldn't even use the time to review the casefile with Dana. Instead, he'd settled for quietly holding hands with his bride-to-be. Mulder smiled to himself - at least it hadn't been a total loss.

When the plane had steadied to where he felt comfortable, Mulder lowered his tray-table and set his briefcase on top. "Time for a little work," he commented in what Dana recognized as his all business, no fooling around tone.

She nodded in agreement. Although this trip had turned into something monumentally important in her personal life - hers and Mulder's - they still had a case to work on. Time to put her personal life on the back burner and concentrate on the case. She retrieved a black nylon case from under the seat in front of her, and as Mulder pulled out a thick jacket of case files from his briefcase, she pulled out her laptop computer.

As she powered up the computer, Dana was struck once again by the difference in their investigative styles, and she wondered how two people who were so different could possibly have come together as completely as she and Mulder had. Dana preferred keeping her field notes on computer, and although she knew for a fact that Mulder kept some notes on his computer, the bulk of his research had always been documented in the handwritten journals that he'd kept for many years. She'd always been fascinated by his eccentric preference of hard copy over computer screen and floppy disk. At first, early in their relationship, she'd treated this as just another Spooky Mulder idiosyncrasy until she'd accidentally come across a journal in the office one day at the end of their first year together.

Mulder had gone home for the evening and in his preoccupation with another matter, had left the book out on his desk. Initially, telling herself she was just curious and only intended to browse the contents, she picked up the book and opened it, trying to ignore the annoying voice of her conscience that was insisting she was invading her partner's privacy. But three hours later, the internal voice of her conscience long forgotten, she'd still found herself immersed in and enthralled by the handwritten words of probably the most brilliant, intuitive, and empathic human being that she'd ever know.

The emotion and insight that flowed from pen to paper revealed to her the passion and sensitivity that her partner so expertly controlled and hid from those around him. The force of the script accentuated his anger, it's intermittent powerful strokes underlined his frustration, and the occasional blurred ink betrayed the presence of tears shed from a seemingly inconsolable pain that at the time she had not yet understood.

She'd conceded then that, for him, Mulder had been right in his choice of medium for recording his thoughts. The cold, hard, sterile fonts of a computer screen could never have accurately conveyed the raging passions or the gentle intensity of spirit that was and is the enigmatic man who now sat next to her, so engrossed in his work that he hadn't even noticed the liquid from his plastic cup leaking steadily onto his leg.

Dana smiled to herself. That single journal had changed the way she'd viewed her partner forever and partly because of that, their relationship had also changed.

She'd often wondered why he'd written anything down at all. He certainly didn't need to. He could call up details on command from memory faster than her computer. Then it had occurred to her one day in a moment of insight. The journals hadn't been for him. Somehow she sensed in this quiet, solitary man a fear of leaving this world without anyone ever knowing who and what he was. His writings were not just his cases, they were the essence of his heart and soul as well. They would be his legacy should no one ever care enough to really know him during his lifetime.

Dana reached over, patted his arm and smiled as she placed a part of her blanket over his leg. She removed the defective cup from his tray and handed it to the flight attendant, who quickly replaced Mulder's drink with a fresh one. Flight attendants were certainly more attentive in first class.

"Thanks," he said softly. "Guess I was a little preoccupied." Grinning sheepishly, he shrugged his shoulders and gently patted her small hand, noticing that the large diamond was on her finger where it belonged, not on a chain around her neck. He sent a mental 'thank you' to Skinner for booking them as husband and wife before diving back into the file he'd been perusing.

Dana turned back to her computer, bringing up another file on her laptop.

The Reno Police Department had modemed the autopsy protocols to the FBI and she'd downloaded them into her computer before they left. She became more and more intrigued as she delved deeper into the information that flashed across her screen. This case made absolutely no sense at all.

With a quick look at her partner, she saw her own thoughts reflected by the stern look of consternation that had etched itself upon his features. She knew, from long experience, that he would be reviewing the preliminary police reports and crime scene photographs, leaving the analysis of the medical findings to her. Those reports must be just as confusing as the ones she had been reading. She could almost visualize theory after theory presenting itself for review and being compared and dismissed by both his intellect and intuition as unacceptable.

Vaguely acknowledging the 'prepare for landing' announcement, Mulder straightened his seat and table to their pre-flight positions. Absently he dropped the case files onto his lap, still deep in thought, contemplating the facts he'd gleaned from them over the last couple of hours.

The jolt of the landing gear contacting the runway and the forward momentum of their bodies as the plane's engines reversed their thrust took them both by surprise. "Rough landing," someone behind them commented, like everyone hadn't already figured that out. As if to drive home the point, the files in Mulder's lap bounced once and tumbled to the floor beneath the seat in front of him before he could catch them. Unfastened papers scattered on the floor and into the aisle. Swiftly removing his seat belt, Mulder scrambled to the floor in a frantic attempt to salvage the documents before they became public knowledge to everyone on board.

Don't laugh. Oh, this wasn't going to be easy, Dana thought with dismay. She closed her eyes against the sight of Mulder's comical efforts at paper retrieval, took a deep breath, held if for a ten count, then released it with an exaggerated sigh. Keep your eyes closed and you'll be fine. OK, maybe not, her brain teased. A warm tickle simultaneously inched its way up the back of her throat and into her nose when a long string of muffled expletive deletives managed to float up from the space between their seats and into her not quite virgin ears. 'Goddamn it' and 'son of a bitch' she could make out quite clearly; however, after that she lost track.

Of course he hadn't noticed that while collecting his papers, the plane had stopped. Scrabbling over the floor of first class after his documents, Mulder was doing a very good job of holding up all the passengers in coach who'd lined up, carry-on baggage in hand, impatiently waiting to get off the plane. The throng of departing passengers were now being treated to the pleasant, albeit inconvenient view of a very handsome young man with his equally attractive butt in the air and his head under a seat.

"Mulder!" she whispered in a strained voice. "Mulder, you're blocking the aisle."

"Huh?" came a muffled reply.

"I said," she raised her voice slightly, still resisting the urge to cackle loudly, "You're blocking the aisle and unless you want to become the victim of a mob lynching, you better move... sometime in this century."

"Oh, damn," an irritated voice retorted. Mulder gingerly scooted back out from under the seat but not before catching the back of his head on the armrest on the way up. "Shit!" Finally standing up, clutching the thick remains of jumbled papers in both hands, he turned to face an impatient crowd. "Sorry." He smiled weakly. "I, um... lost my papers."

He turned to Dana for a little sympathy just as an attractive blond stuffed a dollar bill in his back pocket. "That's ok, hon," the blonde purred. "It was worth the wait."

It was too much. Dana lost her battle to maintain any semblance of decorum, snorting loudly into her hand as unencumbered laughter escaped from between her fingers.

Mulder's brow rose as if in challenge. Go ahead - let's hear it. Dana was not someone who ignored a good challenge. "Admit it, Mulder," she managed to choke out in between her laughter. "Computers do have their good points." She deftly clicked the top down on her laptop and slid it easily into her carry on while Mulder tried hopelessly to wrestle a stack of unruly papers back into his briefcase. By the time he managed to arrange everything so that he could at least get his briefcase closed, everyone else had already gotten off the plane and the flight attendants were staring pointedly at their two remaining passengers.

"Can't take you anywhere," Dana muttered, grabbing her overcoat. "Come on, let's go before we miss our connecting flight."

Reno, Nevada
9:00 a.m.

Bright yellow tape cordoned off the alleyway next to the Red Sands Casino. Black lettering on the tape proclaimed that the area was a crime scene and no one was to pass. That didn't stop the curious from lining up on the other side of the tape, craning their necks to get a glimpse of whatever was beyond the barrier. Most of them only saw the backs of blue police uniforms, and the occasional flash of the police photographer's camera as it recorded the crime scene on 35mm color film.

Officer Harold Johnson had lived in Reno all his life. He'd grown up in one of the few predominantly black neighborhoods that had existed in the Reno of the 60's. His parents had moved to Reno from Los Angeles, seeking refuge from the racial strife that had existed in Southern California even in those days. But there was no refuge from violence, not even here. The body lying under the clean white sheet was a silent testament to the fact that no place was completely safe.

As a child, Harold had struggled to understand his parents' anger over the death of Martin Luther King, an event that had caused his school to close early as officials fretted over an outbreak of racial violence that never happened. He also remembered having a quiet Thanksgiving holiday interrupted by the news that someone had driven her car down the sidewalks of casino row, killing tourists and locals alike. These two seemingly random events coalesced in Harold's mind. He'd been struck by the injustice of it all, how you could be a good and decent person and some bad guy could still come along and blow you away or run you down with a car without a second thought. If he had to pinpoint the exact things that had made him decide to be a cop, Harold Johnson would have pointed to those two events. Harold wanted to stop the bad guys before good, decent, innocent people died.

But this time Officer Harold Johnson had been too late. By the time he'd received the call of a woman screaming in the vicinity of the Red Sands Casino, the victim was already dead. The Red Sands was on his beat, and Officer Johnson was beginning to dread radio calls instructing him to respond to trouble there. This was the fifth body he'd discovered in as many weeks. Even though the detectives in charge weren't using the term serial killer yet, he expected to read it in the newspapers or hear it on the local news any day now.

Although if this was the work of a serial killer, Officer Johnson had a hard time understanding the killer's motive. If the killer had meant to rob his victim, he'd done a lousy job. The guy was still wearing a money belt around his waist, and from just a cursory examination he'd seen more money in that belt than he'd made all year so far. There'd been no mutilation of the body, nothing to indicate that the attack had been sexually motivated. And he knew that the detectives had been unable to find any connection between the previous victims, other than their patronage of the Red Sands Casino.

Officer Johnson watched as an unmarked police car pulled into the entrance of the alley. Many of the spectators had moved on, and the few that were left made room for the car to get through. He studied each of the faces remaining in the crowd. Officer Johnson was trying for his own detective's gold shield, and he had learned that many killers returned to the scene of the crime, feeding a need to continue to be involved in the case.

However, none of the faces were familiar from the other crime scenes. Still, when he wrote up his report later, he would describe as many people in the crowd as he could. He wondered what the spectators would think if they knew that just by hanging around the scene they were included in the police report. Two detectives got out of the car. The larger of the two squinted up at the morning light, sipping from a steaming 7-11 refillable coffee mug.

"That stuff's gonna kill you someday," his partner said.

"Yeah, if some creep doesn't get me first," he said, grimacing at the taste of the coffee. He walked up to Officer Johnson. "What have we got, Harold?"

"White male, late forties. I.D. says his name is Robert Harris from Austin, Texas. No obvious cause of death."

"Robbery?" the smaller detective asked.

Officer Johnson shook his head. "Nope. The guy's got a money belt stuffed full of 100's and 20's. I'd say he just had a pretty good night at the tables."

"Must be his lucky day." The larger detective peered at the crowd. "We get shots of those people?"

"Yeah, along with shots of the body and the general area, but there's not much here to take pictures of."

"Just like the other ones." Above their heads, a neon sign flickered and sputtered. "They make enough money in these places you'd think they could afford to fix the damn signs," the detective grumbled. Setting his coffee mug on the asphalt, he squatted down next to the body and briefly lifted the sheet. The patrol officer was right - no obvious cause of death.

The victim's faced was frozen in a grimace of pain, and it appeared he was clutching his chest when he fell to the pavement. If it hadn't been for the others, they would be inclined to write this off as death by natural causes.

But the city fathers got nervous when tourists started dropping like flies outside the casinos, and the word had come down from on high that every death near a casino was to be considered suspicious until proven otherwise.

This town would dry up and blow away if the tourists quit dropping money in the clubs.

He let the sheet fall back over the victim's face. "Let's get the coroner going on this one pronto."

"I don't suppose there were any witness?" his partner asked.

"We have reports of a woman screaming, but no one's admitted to seeing anything," Officer Johnson replied.

"Great, just great," the first detective said. "The elusive screaming woman, just what I need to start my day," he blew out a deep breath and ran one hand through his thinning hair. "Ok. Here's the plan. We need to get some people inside interviewing dealers, cocktail waitresses, pit bosses, anybody who might remember our victim here and anybody who was a little too interested in his winning streak. Tony, you and I are gonna pay a visit to the security office and see if they caught this guy on tape." The sign sputtered once more and finally went out, darkening the O and T of the Red Sands Hotel Casino sign above the alleyway "And somebody tell maintenance that they have another sign on the fritz. I don't think they want to advertise that they're the Hel Casino."

"Any more people die here and that's gonna be appropriate," Detective Tony Goldman commented.

"Yeah," his partner replied, draining the last of his coffee from the mug.

"Tell me again, Tony, why I gave up retirement."

"You're crazy, man. But then again, I think all New Yorkers are crazy, and you gotta be crazy to do this stuff for a living."

"So how long do I have to live here until I'm not a New Yorker anymore?"

"Oh, about 20 or 30 years," Tony said.

"I'll be dead by then."

"That's the general idea, my man. You get buried here, then you're a local."

Officer Johnson listened to the two detectives' banter until they disappeared into the casino. He'd be back on his regular beat by this afternoon, but he knew the case was just beginning for the detective squad. Even though he wanted more than anything to be a detective, he was glad the responsibility for this particular case wasn't resting on his shoulders. Unsolved cases didn't look good for anyone - not the town, the casinos, nor the police department. And by the looks of things, this one was going to be a bitch to solve.

Airport
Atlanta, GA

A somewhat subdued Fox Mulder followed Dana Scully from the plane, down the ramp, and into the crowded Atlanta terminal, heading toward their next departure gate. She just had to rub it in, didn't she? he thought crankily. Okay pal, calm down. You're in pain and your blood sugar's probably at ground zero by now since you didn't eat that simply scrumptious gourmet meal they'd served on the plane. Don't be a jerk and take it out on Dana. It's not her fault you can't eat because your face feels like someone smacked you upside the head with a fucking two-by-four. He felt a tentative tug on his sleeve and looked down at Dana's upturned face.

"Mulder," she prodded him insistently with her voice. He had a feeling she'd said it more than once but he just hadn't been paying attention.

"Reticula to Mulder - come in Spooky," she teased.

"Hmm?" he replied lazily.

"I said, 'Mulder, we have an hour layover and the next gate's right over there, so let's go grab something to eat.' You're starting to zone out on me, Sherlock. You definitely need food."

"They served food during the flight," he reminded her.

"Which you didn't eat," Dana retorted. "And don't give me that look and try to convince me otherwise," she embellished while jabbing him in the chest with an accusing forefinger.

Mulder tried for the innocent, 'who, me?' look, but Dana had already turned her back on him, heading off down the concourse at a smart rate. Amazing how fast she could walk on those short little legs when she wanted to. He finally caught up to her only to have her put on the brakes in front of a place called 'Cheers Pub 'n Grill.' She turned on him with an evil grin.

"Now wait just a damn minute," he protested as she drug him into the darkly lit restaurant. "I ate some of it. I did... honest."

"Don't play games with me, Fox Mulder. You pushed the food around on your plate, took two bites of lukewarm mashed potatoes, and hid the chicken under your napkin. Believe me, I know the routine. I've caught Matt and Meredith pulling that crap often enough and they're much better at it than you are."

Mulder winced. "Geez, Scully,. What are you, the freaking food police?

What if I told you that I'm just not hungry?" he ventured experimentally as she picked out a booth in a dark corner of the room.

"Then I'd say you were lying through your proverbial teeth. Your stomach's been growling louder than a pride of hungry lions for the last two hours so don't hand me that line of bull. I know for a fact that your tooth is killing you, so don't go macho on me either. Fox, put the goop on it and I'll try and order something that you can eat. Just pick your seat and sit down."

"Which hand do you want me to use?" he grumbled while reaching for his butt.

Dana merely gave him a dirty look that more or less said, 'behave yourself or else' and picked up her fork to make sure it was clean.

Mulder frowned in resignation, his shoulders engaging in a noticeable droop when she'd refused to take the bait. He tried in vain to fit comfortably into the small booth. "I'm not trying to be macho. I just don't like dentists."

"Oh, so you're going to keep putting it off until it really gets serious, is that it, Mulder? Now that makes a whole hell of a lot of sense," she remarked facetiously. "Face it. Either way you're going to end up at the dentist's office. Whether it's under your own power - or someone else's - depends on you."

"Scully, is that a threat?" Mulder peeked over the top of his menu, his eyes wide with exaggerated surprise.

"No, it's only a foregone conclusion based on the inevitable outcome of the situation," she said smugly.

He hated it when she was right. Enduring one kind of pain to avoid another kind of pain that would eventually eliminate the first kind of pain was basically... well, stupid. Intellectually, he understood the absurdity of his actions. But for some reason he just couldn't seem to get past a deep-seated primitive fear of anyone messing with his teeth. Stupid. He was a grown man, he'd faced down mutants, aliens, and man-sized fluke worms, but dentists? The very thought made him shudder. As a trained psychologist, he recognized that the source of his fear must be lingering just beyond the realm of his conscious memory, but that didn't help. The truth was he just had this unwarranted panic that seized him every time he even thought about someone probing, cutting or drilling in his mouth.

Even in the dimly lit restaurant, Dana noticed his countenance darken. She hardly recognized the small, childlike voice that addressed her in a tone she could only describe a shame-filled.

"Dana..." Mulder paused indecisively. Fumbling with his napkin, he inadvertently flipped his fork to the floor. She watched his hands tremble.

"Shit!" He bent over to pick up the fork, and when he straightened up, he refused to meet her eyes. "I'm afraid," he finally admitted with acute embarrassment. "Your soon to be husband and father of your child is scared shitless of getting into a fucking dentist's chair," he whispered softly with self loathing.

Christ Almighty, this really bothered him... so much so, that he wouldn't even look her in the eye. Dana reached out and took his hand. "Good God, Mulder, you're a psychologist. Surely you know you're far from alone with respect to your phobia concerning dental science."

"Still love me?" he asked meekly. in the background they suddenly picked out the melodic strains of a Pretenders' song echoing through the dining room.

'Nothing you confess, Would make me love you less, I'll stand by you, I'll stand by you, Won't let nobody hurt you...' She sang along softly with the music, squeezing his hand during the last line. He smiled, and she laughed softly in return.

"Come on, Mulder. Let's see what we can find to feed you." Dana ran her finger down the menu. "Hmm... how about beef stew? It's warm, filling, and the veggies are soft."

"Don't eat beef," he informed her.

"Since when?" she asked, "And why not?"

"Since yesterday... hormones, chemicals, and a whole lot of other things that I don't even wasnt to think about in the meat. All I can see anymore when I look at a steak is 'purity control'."

Dana made a face. She hadn't thought of that. All of a sudden steak didn't sound so appetizing. "Okay, stew's out," she commented patiently. "What about baked fish? Nutritious, easy to chew."

Mulder shook his head 'no.' "Flukies," he spat out, making a face.

Dana pressed her fingertips to her forehead and massaged her temples with her thumbs. This was getting ridiculous. "Fox, you know heat kills flukes."

"Can't help it," he replied with a doleful expression. "I see fish, I think 'Flukies'."

"Ok, ok." She smiled. The old standby then. "Chicken soup?"

He nearly gagged and stared at her like she was nuts. "Christ, Dana, you really don't know what could be in that. Cannibals," he reminded her softly.

Dana blew out a heavy sigh. Jesus, this was going to be more difficult than she'd thought. She knew Mulder better than anyone, and he'd never given much thought to what he put in his stomach. At least not before today.

"Why the sudden change in eating habits, Mulder?" she asked curiously.

A shadow of a smile briefly shone in his eyes, wistfully caressing his lips as he spoke. "I did a lot of thinking and I decided there were some changes that I needed to make in my life."

"Changes?" she asked, slightly alarmed.

Mulder waved her concern aside with a small gesture of his hand. "Don't go ballistic. It's nothing major, just some small things that were way overdue and neglected for far too long. Like what I eat. You've bugged me about this, so you can't start complaining now. 'Mulder, your body might as well be a garbage can for all the crap you stuff into it,' " he mimicked her.

Dana shook her head slowly, a self-conscious grin spreading across her face. His damn memory was something she'd never get used to. She especially hated it when he quoted her verbatim. "What am I going to do with you, Mulder?" she muttered.

"It's just that I'm not alone anymore," he explained. "I have you, and I have a future, one that I thought would never exist for me. I want to grow old with you. I want to be around to watch my kids grow up--to be there to tell them that it's ok to cry, that I'm proud of them no matter what they decide to be, and that they're important and loved. The odds of surviving in this line of work are bad enough without me consciously stacking the deck against myself."

"Any more than you already do," she interrupted.

"Ok, any more than I already do," he agreed with a grin. "I'm going to try to be good, but I can guarantee I'm going to need a lot of help. Old habits are hard to break."

A tall, dark-haired waitress appeared by their table, ending the moment.

Dana watched as she covertly assessed Mulder out of the corner of her eye.

From the pin above her right pocket, Dana deduced that her name was Jenny, she liked smiley faces, and more than likely was duty bound to tell her customers to have a nice day. Jenny smiled at Dana, a friendly but studied professional smile, but the one she beamed at Fox was hot enough to melt rock. The overture was lost on him, however. He was too busy staring at the menu, a decidedly perplexed expression creasing the corners of his eyes.

Dana stifled a snicker. God help her if he ever realized the effect he had on women. For some reason that she couldn't fathom, he apparently didn't think he was that attractive. Hell, that unassuming attitude in itself was enough to send most females into a human version of a feeding frenzy. She didn't think there was a truly conceited bone in Mulder's entire, beautifully well-made body. He didn't have time for that kind of nonsense and women, as a rule, usually picked up on that type of quality. Whether or not Mulder knew it, he was prime.

"Ready to order?" the woman finally had the presence of mind to ask.

Dana knew Mulder would take forever trying to decide what he could, should, or wanted to eat. She solved the problem by taking the menu from his hand and handing it to their waitress. "Do you have fruit salad?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Got a blender?" she asked as an idea popped into her head.

"Certainly."

"Good, he wants a fruit salad. Throw it in a blender and put it in a glass.

Give him a side order of applesauce if you have it. I'll take a chef's salad with Italian dressing."

"Sure thing," Jenny acknowledged while jotting down the order. Must be one of those health nuts, she thought while swaying her hips a little over zealously on her trip back to the kitchen.

"You know," Dana said, turning her attention back to Mulder, "if you stick with this new eating plan of yours, we'll have to order ahead every time just to make sure we go somewhere where you can eat."

He just shrugged his shoulders. By God, he was serious about this.

Amazing what impending fatherhood can do to some people. Catching a whiff of mocha from behind the bar, Dana thought about her own absent cup of coffee and rubbed her stomach. Maybe that should be impending parenthood, she thought.

Reno, Nevada
11:10 a.m.

Lily Morgan sat up in bed with a start, the blood racing in her veins. She'd been in the middle of a nasty nightmare and had been jerked back to reality by the sharp knock on her front door. Only cops knock like that. Cops or landlords, and she wasn't behind on her rent.

The knock sounded again -- two sharp raps, this time accompanied by a male voice calling her name. Definitely the cops.

"Just a minute," she called out. Breathe in, breathe out, deep slow breaths, she told herself. Calm down. She smoothed her hair down with one hand, pleased to see that it wasn't shaking. With any luck she'd be able to get through this and go on with her life.

She slept in an over-sized football jersey that hung half-way down to her knees. She thought about pulling on some jeans, but decided they would have to take her as she was. She didn't want to leave them out in the hall any longer than necessary or they'd begin to get suspicious. Thank God she no longer had any marks on her legs. At least none that were easily visible to a casual observer.

"Sorry, I was sleeping," she mumbled as she answered the door. Two plainclothes cops stood in the hallway. Both showed her IDs that identified them as Detectives with the Reno Police Department.

"Lily Morgan?" asked the shorter of the two. She nodded in reply. "We need to ask you a few questions. Do you mind if we come in?"

She opened the door and stepped out of the way to let them in. "What's this about?" she asked, feigning a yawn.

"You're employed at the Red Sands, right?" said the other detective, ignoring her question. She nodded. "Graveyard shift in the coffee shop?"

Another nod. "See anything unusual when you left work this morning?"

"Nope. Just another sunrise. You never said what this was all about." she reminded them.

"Did you leave work by the employee exit?" asked the shorter detective.

They were tag-teaming her, she decided, and they still weren't answering her question. Not that she needed them to - she already knew why they were here. At least she hoped she did.

"Just like a good little worker bee," she said, trying hard for a little self-righteous indignation. An innocent person would begin to be a little upset right about now. She needed to be upset. "Why are you here? Am I in trouble?"

Until now the two detectives had been asking her questions without really looking at her, preferring instead to evaluate her by scrutinizing her surroundings, not that there was all that much to see. The larger of the two men put down a paperback he'd picked up off the coffee table next to her day bed. "Why would you think you were in trouble, Ms. Morgan?" he asked, looking directly into her eyes.

Lily forced herself to return his gaze, even though her insides were shaking so badly she was sure it must be reflected in her eyes. "You got me out of bed in what is the middle of the night for me, and you won't tell me what this is all about. Under the circumstances, I think it's normal to be a little paranoid."

"And what circumstances would that be, exactly?" he asked.

Lily noticed an accent - New York, maybe. He was certainly New York rude. This time she didn't have to work so hard to appear indignant. "I just told you. Now why don't you tell me something? Or is that too much to ask?"

She glared at him for a moment, waiting for an answer. When one wasn't forthcoming, she broke eye contact, turning to see what his partner was up to. With her back to him, she didn't see him run his gaze over her body, looking for anything out of the ordinary. His brows drew down into a frown as he spotted the old scars on the backs of her legs. He noticed another one on her shoulder, half-hidden by the oversized t-shirt. No fresh bruises though, he noted.

"You live here all alone, Ms. Morgan?" he asked.

Lily turned back to face him. "Not exactly a whole lot of space here for a roommate," she said, not even having to work hard at the sarcasm this time. Cops - they were the same everywhere. Jerks, the whole lot of them.

But as comforting as the anger was, she couldn't let it get out of hand or she'd say the wrong thing - not smart. You gotta be smart, Lily, she told herself. She sighed. "I'm sorry. Yes, I live alone. Yes, I work at the Red Sands in the coffee shop, graveyard shift. I left by the employee exit. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. I guess I'm a little cranky on two hours' sleep."

"So are we all, Ms. Morgan," he questioned his partner with a glance over the woman's shoulder and got a slight nod in return. "Okay. To answer your question, a man died in the alleyway outside the Red Sands this morning, right about the time you got off work and right in front of the employee exit. We're just questioning everyone who might have been in the area and might have seen something."

"Oh, God, not another one," Lily breathed. She let a little of her nervousness show through, hoping that it would come across as shock. "I...I'm sorry, but I didn't see anything."

"You remember a big guy, Texas accent, bad clothes, in the coffee shop anytime last night? He was winning big, might have left you a good tip."

Lily shook her head no. "I don't get many big tippers. I would have remembered him."

The detective took a card from his pocket and handed it to her. "Well, if you remember anything you think might help, give me a call," he paused and caught her gaze again, leaning in a little closer. "Or if you need help with anything else, you call me."

She took the card from him, cursing at herself when she noticed that her hand was shaking, just a little. "Thank you," she said in a small voice.

If the detective noticed the tremor in her hand, he didn't mention it. He just collected his partner and left. Lily bolted the door behind them and sagged against it, her knees threatening to give out. She almost tossed the card in the trash, but on second thought tucked it underneath her bedside phone.

She climbed back in under the covers, knees drawn up halfway to her chest, but it was a long time before she was able to fall back asleep.

"Hey, Jake. What was that all about?" Tony Goldman hadn't been teamed with his partner all that long so he didn't know all the man's nuances yet, but he was sure something besides just questioning a possible witness had happened in that apartment.

"Aw, shit, Tony," Jake replied, settling his bulk behind the wheel of their unmarked police car. "Some asshole's been beating the crap out of that woman," he turned the key and the car roared to life. "My guess is that she finally got up the guts to leave the guy and she's scared shitless that he's gonna find her."

"She did seem damn nervous, but I figured it was just because we got her out of bed to question her."

"Yeah, I thought the same thing until I saw the scars on the backs of her legs. Healed over now, but still visible if you know what you're looking at.

I've seen more of that shit in one lifetime than I ever wanted to. Hers were probably made by a leather belt. She's got another one up by her shoulder, and I bet there's more hidden under that t-shirt of hers. You know how hard you gotta hit someone with a belt to leave permanent scars?"

"Pretty fucking hard," Tony replied. Domestic violence was a way of life with some people, and Reno seemed to have more than its share. Every now and then there'd be some article in the paper about the rising rate of domestic crime, usually after another poor kid was abused or killed by her parents. Psychologists blamed it on the Reno lifestyle - the stress of living in a 24-hour town where most of the residents worked for minimum wage in surroundings that promoted alcohol and gambling. Addiction, of all kinds, was common place here, and addicts were not stable citizens.

"Well, that asshole just better hope I never find him," Jake growled as he pulled out into traffic. Beating a pretty lady like that, turning her into a scared little mouse hiding out in her tiny apartment. He'd seen a little spirit in those eyes, so he knew she wasn't completely broken yet. Never would be if he could help it.

"Think she'd actually call for help?" Tony asked.

"Hope so, partner," Jake replied. "I sure hope so.

Cheers Pub 'N Grill Atlanta airport terminal

While they were waiting for lunch, Dana decided that now was as good a time as any to get a little work done. She pulled out her laptop and punched up her notes on the files she'd read on the flight from D.C.

"Mulder, this case is just plain weird. No wonder the VCS called us in."

She took a sip of water, still pining for the coffee she had purposely not ordered. "I've gone over these files several times and the only connection I can find is the location of the murders, and I use that term loosely. They all occurred in a three block section of the downtown casino area. The biggest casinos in that section of town are the Red Sands, the El Dorado, and the Riverboat. A couple of smaller casinos and bars managed to squeeze in between the big hotel/casinos, along with a few small businesses, the largest of which is a pawn shop."

She stopped to watch information scroll across her screen. Mulder might have this all down in that photographic memory of his, but occasionally she needed to refer to her notes. "Here we go," she muttered under her breath.

"There have been five suspicious deaths in the last two weeks, maybe more. Local police seem to think that the deaths are related but from the reports, I can't find anything other than location to connect them."

Mulder had drifted away from her. The far away look in his eyes confirmed that his mind was focused on the problem at hand from probably a totally different perception than anyone else had even envisioned. As intriguing as she sometimes found it, this mental state that she often found him in during a case could also be very annoying. He seemed to forget that she was even around.

"Mulder?" No answer. "Mulder?!" Still no answer. She finally reached across the table and flicked his ear.

"Hey, ow!!" he squawked as his attention jerked back to her rather abruptly. "What'd you do that for?"

"You know it's bad manners to ignore your significant other and not share your thoughts," she razzed him.

"I'm sorry. I was just thinking."

"I could tell. Care to share?"

"Dana, I don't think these deaths were the result of a serial killer. I can't explain it yet but it just doesn't feel right. It doesn't make sense."

"Since when do serial killers make sense, Sherlock?"

"Even serial killers follow their own grotesque kind of logic, Scully. As absurd and eschewed as that logic may seem to the rest of us, it usually makes perfect sense to the perverse and demented mind that employs it."

He stopped, raising one eyebrow mischievously. "That's how I catch the bastards, you know," he whispered seductively, leaning toward her so that only she could hear his words. "I become perverse and demented," he told her with a wink, before he straightened back up. "Every killer has a motive; it's just not easy to find and often not what you expected. I never told you exactly why I left VCS or why Skinner approved my appointment to The X-Files, did I?" His mood had turned serious, so different from the playful banter of just a moment earlier.

"No, you never did... and you don't have to," she assured him.

"I know that. I want to tell you and you need to know."

Dana spotted their waitress headed back toward their table, tray loaded with a plate full of lettuce and something vaguely pink in a tall fountain glass. "Tell you what. Why don't you eat your lunch first, then you can tell me the rest of the story."

Jenny with the smiley face set their food in front of them, nearly swishing a hip into Fox's face as she turned to leave. Even he couldn't have missed that blatantly obvious come on, Dana fumed. Then again, maybe he could have. It seemed that her illustrious partner was more annoyed at having his conversation with her interrupted than he was turned on by a provocative waitress.

Mulder obediently sucked down his lunch while Scully crunched down her salad. She was right again, of course. His mouth still hurt, but at least his stomach had stopped growling, he wasn't as nearly as cranky as he was just a few minutes ago, and overall he did feel better. Damn, but the timing had been terrible. He'd wanted to talk to Dana about his time with the VCS and why he preferred not to work on cases dealing with serial killers. All of a sudden he felt an overwhelming need explain some things, about his work and about himself. He needed her to know why he was "Spooky Mulder" and why Skinner let him leave the section even though his success rate was unparalleled. He needed her to know exactly what she was - hell, had gotten herself into. Now it was getting late and if they didn't leave soon, they'd miss their connecting flight. Shit!

Lunch finished, they got up slowly from the table and were making their way toward the cashier when Dana firmly squeezed his hand. "We'll talk about it on the plane," she promised.

God, he loved her. Sometimes she amazed even him.

"Go on ahead." She grinned broadly. "I'll get it this time." She pulled her credit card from her purse to pay the bill while Mulder walked outside to wait impatiently.

Jenny felt a light tapping on her shoulder. Turning around, she looked down to find the little red-head who'd been sitting with the cute guy at table six. "Nice try, Sweetie," the tiny woman said casually. "He's taken."

Dana started to turn then stopped. "Oh, by the way," she added, pulling something from her pocket with one hand and placing it into the waitress's palm. Dana smiled sweetly. "I almost forgot your tip."

Jenny stared down at the two shiny pennies in her hand along with the napkin bearing her own name and phone number that she'd stealthily (she thought) left next to the man's plate.

Dana Katherine turned and slowly walked away, swishing her own hips just a little more than necessary as she slinked her way out the door. She didn't have to see the look on Jenny's face - she could imagine it just fine, thank you, and she doubted it had any correlation to the smiley face on Jenny's uniform. It took a lot of self-control to keep her giggles buried underneath an impassive face.

"Problem?" Mulder asked when she finally came out and hooked her arm possessively through his.

"No problem. Why would you think there was a problem? I just forgot to tip the waitress, that's all." Dana favored him with a radiant smile and a look of questioning innocence.

Uh oh, the denial was too quick and the look too overdone. He knew that combination and it wasn't good news for somebody. He only hoped that the 'somebody' wasn't him. In any case, where Dana was concerned, he prided himself on knowing when to shut the fuck up. So he decided that for now, discretion was indeed the better part of valor, and judiciously dropped the subject just in case it was his butt that was under the knife.

Red Sands Casino
Reno, Nevada

Scott Simons slammed the door of his office shut behind him, taking refuge behind the solid oak doors. Not every casino exec, and certainly not mere heads of security, had an office like Scott's. But he'd managed to parlay the uniqueness of his security system into quite a few perks for himself. This office was just one such perk. The new Porsche sitting in his parking stall in the casino's garage was another. It was about time Scott Simons got used to the finer things in life.

All of which would come to an abrupt halt if he didn't figure out what the fuck was going on, and soon. There'd been another death this morning, right outside the casino. He didn't need a memo or a fax or a freaking e mail to tell him that management was getting nervous. He could read it in the faces of his office staff. And management didn't like being nervous. It was bad for business, and that was very, very bad for the people who pulled their strings.

The cops had been upstairs again this morning, reviewing security tapes with his staff. Thank God the dead guy, Harris, didn't appear to be a cheater, at least not to human eyes. His blubber had covered a good deal of table space, but even the security expert his boss had transferred up here from Las Vegas had given the dead guy a clean bill of health, so to speak.

This particular security expert gave Scott nightmares. By reputation he was responsible for more than half the names in the casino's black book, and Scott was sure that most of the names listed in that infamous record of casino cheaters were permanently lost in the Nevada desert -- along with a few casino executives who couldn't deliver what they'd promised. Scott didn't want to end up among that exclusive crowd.

He sank into his heavily padded executive chair, hoping the smooth feel of the leather would help him relax. A very 'here and now' person, Scott had always found that life's little luxuries made him feel better. Today it wasn't working. Resigning himself to the fact that this was just going to be another screwed up day, no matter what, he decided he might as well try to get some of the mundane work done.

Scott glanced at his in-box, stacked high with papers thrown in haphazardly. He was a creator -- a scientist, for Chrissake -- but they still expected him to dutifully review all the paperwork that crossed his desk.

He picked up a few off the top, grateful that the bimbo of a secretary they'd stuck him with at least remembered which box was 'in' and which was 'out'.

Scott was sure she was related to, or sleeping with, someone of importance in the organization. Nepotism was apparently alive and well in this line of work.

The first few pieces of paper held no interest for Scott - memos about a spring softball league, another cautioning employees about the proper use of their timecards, another asking for help in catching the vandals who were ruining the casino's signs. But one memo - addressed only to management level employees - caught his eye. Apparently power usage was up 250% over the same time last year, and all managers were requested to address power conservation within their departments. Shit!

Scott had a sinking feeling he knew where all that extra juice was going.

He just wished he knew for sure what the brain was using it for.

He glared at the computer terminal on his desk. "What the hell is going on?" he growled at it. "I know you know, but for some reason you're not telling me." The terminal just stared back at him, not that he really expected an answer. That would have to wait until tonight, when he could be alone with the brains of his system. He'd run a few more tests on it, see if his latest theories about its morphing abilities were right. Maybe it would talk to him this time or, show him things like it used to in the beginning. Maybe it would help him understand why casino patrons were dropping like flies.

Maybe it would show him how to get out of this mess with his skin in one piece.

United Airlines Flight 1552
Atlanta to Reno

They'd barely made their flight with only four minutes to spare, no thanks to him, Dana thought belligerently. Before she met this scheduling nightmare of a man, she was seldom rushed and hardly ever late for anything, something she'd always prided herself on. Now it was a blasted miracle that she was ever on time, especially when Mulder was involved. That man's sense of time is just about as unreliable as his sense of direction

Dana snapped her seat belt together around her waist and pulled up the slack with a little more force than necessary, all under the watchful eye of their flight attendant. They'd been the last to board and had barely stowed their carryon bags before the plane began moving away from the terminal.

"Mulder," Dana hissed, "try a little restraint next time, all right? I can't believe we nearly missed our flight because of a stuffed bear."

"Ah come on, Scully," he pleaded soulfully. Holding the bear up next to his face, he mimicked its playful expression. "How could you resist this face, huh?"

Despite her annoyance, she had to grin at him. Mulder with a stuffed animal, who would have thought? "Which one?" she chuckled.

"The bear's, of course." He pouted. "I already know you can't resist mine."

She reached out for a quick jab at his ribs, but he moved an elbow and intercepted her, clearly proud of himself that he'd anticipated her move.

"Hey, Dana, you know the kid's gonna love this. See, lookee here. It's cute, fuzzy, and cuddly. Just like me." Dana couldn't believe what she was seeing. Fox Mulder, FBI agent extraordinaire, experimentally squeezing the plush-covered tummy of a teddy bear with an apparent glee she'd always associated with young children.

"Well in that case, he's bound to be a hit." Jeez Louise, you'd think the man had never owned a stuffed teddy before. A distressing thought suddenly struck her. It was entirely possible that he hadn't.

It was at times like these that she could almost see the love ooze from every pore in his body. How anyone could've ever mistreated him was beyond her. She watched with amusement as he tenderly stroked the chubby little body one last time before carefully placing the bear in the bag under his seat. She blinked rapidly as a surge of emotions brought sudden tears to her eyes. Hormones - gotta love 'em, she thought as she patted her stomach.

He looked up just in time to see her giving him the 'eye.' "What?" he gulped.

"Mulder, you've got to get a handle on this toy buying binge," she scolded with a sterness she really didn't feel. "It's getting way out of hand when you can't go by a toy store without buying something. You're going to spoil the kid and its not even here yet."

"Hey, it's my kid and I can spoil it if I want to," he stuck out his bottom lip definitely.

"Our kid," she reminded him.

Mulder's expression melted into a repentant visage. "Geez, Dana," he wheedled. "Let me have my fun... please??? Don't make a grown man beg."

"Oh, cut the wounded puppy look, you win. But I'm telling you right now that if the 'dark powers that be' ever crash your humble abode again and discover your spare room is filled from floor to ceiling with stuffed animals, Fisher Price, and Little Tykes -- your reputation will most certainly be shot to hell.

"Scully," his voice rose in pitch with mock surprise. "My reputation's already shot to hell. Has been for years."

"Point taken," she agreed with a grin. She leaned back as the plane accelerated down the runway, feeling the familiar push of the seat against her spine as its wheels left the ground. Mulder reached over and took her hand in his as the plane soared through the sky. This was becoming a habit.

She squeezed his hand in return. A very good habit.

Once the plane reached cruising altitude and the seat belt sign had been turned off, Dana dug out her laptop computer and powered it up. "Can we possibly get back to business now?" she asked. "You were saying that you didn't believe we're dealing with a serial killer. Why do you say that when the local PD as well as the VCS believe that we are?"

"A feeling?" he offered. "Just call it an intimate understanding of how a deranged mind like that works, and those," he gestured at the list of files currently occupying her computer screen, "just don't fit the bill."

"How intimate an understanding?" she asked, eying him with concern.

Mulder bowed his head and restlessly studied his hands that lay folded loosely in his lap. "I got too close and it got to be just too much to handle."

He raised his head to look in her eyes. "I nearly lost it, Dana," he whispered in a broken voice.

Mulder's gaze moved past her to stare out the window of the plane, but Dana knew he wasn't watching the fluffy white clouds passing underneath them. He was looking into the past. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she said.

"It's ok," he replied with a wan smile. "You need to know who you're marrying. I want you to know."

He took a deep breath, but when he started talking, his voice was quiet and calm, almost as if he was talking about someone else. "When I was first recruited by the Bureau," he began, "I felt that maybe this was my means to an end. I thought it would provide me with the resources to find Samantha and at the same time do something positive to prevent whatever might have happened to my sister from happening to someone else. With my degree in psychology, I was assigned to Violent Crimes almost immediately after the academy. I accepted the assignment without hesitation. I thought I could make a difference."

Mulder paused while their flight attendant passed out sodas and honey roasted peanuts. He handed his pack of peanuts to Dana and continued the story as soon as the flight attendant was out of earshot.

"At first I tried to stick to known psychological models, applying these creatures' actions to what I'd learned, and to a certain degree it worked. In fact, it worked well enough to get me a certain amount of notoriety in the VCS. At that time there really was nothing 'spooky' about what I could do.

When you have eidetic memory and can replay a crime scene repeatedly in your mind without variation, it only stands to reason that you'd be able to pick out things that other agents failed to notice. Unfortunately I was young, green, and not very mindful of the veteran agents' egos."

"You stepped on a few toes, I imagine," Dana said.

"More than just a few," he admitted. "The 'spooky' nickname started with them and just escalated after Skinner appointed me to head a task force assigned to capture a serial killer who specialized in victimizing and murdering eight andnine-year-old girls. I guess you can imagine how bad I wanted to nail this monster. I wanted him so bad that nothing else mattered except getting this inhuman bastard off the streets. But he was elusive and didn't fit into any preconceived mold. One night after a frustrating sixteen hour day that ended with the discovery of another dead kid, I was so fucking angry and felt so helpless that I threw a goddamn tantrum in the middle of the bullpen. Every piece of shit that wasn't nailed down ended up on the floor or as a permanent fixture on the wall."

Mulder's hand tightened around the soda can on his tray. He could still remember the anger as if it happened yesterday, not at the beginning of his career. Of course, in a way he had relived the horror of this case not that long ago. He forced himself to calm down, but he couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. "I heard the snickers and laughs the older agents made at my expense, not quite behind my back. They wanted me to fail.

Damn it -- children were dying and they still wanted me to fail! I took a long walk to the Lincoln Memorial, sat on a bench and cried. After I was done, I came to the conclusion that what worked before wasn't going to work this time, that if I wanted to solve this case and stop the killing I'd have to come up with a new way of looking at it."

"And you did," Dana murmured.

Mulder nodded. "You know the credo as well as I do from your own medical training. Doctors are trained to be observers, always standing outside, never getting involved with their patients -- or subjects -- on a personal level. Never identifying with them as human beings, never empathizing with their thoughts and feelings. And I'd been doing what I'd been taught -- always approaching my profiles from the outside as a good little trained observer is supposed to. But in this case, for some reason I just knew that the only way to catch this maggot was from the inside. So I went back to my desk, spread all the photos of the crime scenes and victims out around me, and just drank it all in. And bit by bit I put myself inside the nightmare, shifted myself inside his head, saw through his eyes, felt his rage. I became this horror until I knew his moves before he did. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and what he forced me to see in my mind made me physically ill, but I caught him. Damn it, I caught him and he would never hurt another child ever again so I figured the price I paid hadn't been too high."

Mulder stopped to take a sip of his drink, and looking at him, Dana wondered about the price he paid for his insight. He might have caught the killer, but what had been the cost to his soul?

"I began to use this method on every case for one simple reason," he continued, "It worked. It was draining, physically and emotionally debilitating, but it fucking worked. The higher ups didn't care how I caught the bastards just so long as the case solved ratio climbed. Old Spooky Mulder made everybody look good, and they were willing to overlook the way I did my job as long as I kept getting results. There was just one problem. After a while it became harder and harder to separate myself from the cases. Serial killers are among the most vile human beings on the face of the earth, Dana, and the abominations they inflicted on their victims haunted my mind weeks after each case was solved, and their physical manifestations followed me home." He took a deep breath as even now the memories haunted him. "I threw up for six hours straight one night at the realization that I could even think like the slime I'd captured. That was the Jordan Chambers case." Mulder shuddered at his most recent Jordan Chambers memory.

Dana had her own nightmares of Jordan Chambers, and she couldn't even begin to imagine what Mulder had put himself through to think as that bastard did. Maybe now that particular demon had been exorcised.

"You know, Skinner had actually come by my apartment to congratulate me for solving the Chambers case and making him look good." Mulder grinned at the memory of a younger Skinner at his door, complete with more hair and much less experience with his agent's spooky habits. "Guess I must have been in pretty bad shape because two days later he reassigned me to The X-Files that I'd requested the month before."

"Where you promptly set about living up to your nickname," Dana said.

Although her tone was light, Dana knew she would never again hear the term 'spooky' Mulder without thinking of all the horror Mulder had lived with to earn that . Damn right he was Spooky Mulder, and just how many people were alive now because of it? They might mean it as a put-down, but it was something to be proud of.

"And now turning to the case before us," Mulder said, taking a deep breath as he changed mental gears. "I know the work of a serial killer when I see one. And although theses deaths seem to qualify for that dubious honor, they also seem to have been committed without the usual malice that normally accompanies such a crime."

"Mulder!" Dana exclaimed. "These people were killed for chrissakes. You can't get more malicious than that."

"Yes, I know, but in each instance the MO is cold, logical, swift, and lethally efficient. There's no staging involved, no trophies were taken from the victims, no obvious motives. Serial killers do what they do for a reason - control, sexual gratification, misdirected anger - there's always a reason.

There's always a pattern, a ritual that has to be followed in order to get satisfaction from killing. Identifying the ritual identifies the needs being met, and helps identify the killer. There's no ritual involved in these killings."

"Maybe there's a ritual we just haven't spotted yet, something that happens while the killer is observing his victim before the crime," Dana suggested.

"I don't think so," Mulder replied. "Control is a big factor in serial killings, and in order to achieve control, the victim has to know they're helpless.

Serial killers get off on the fear of their victims. These murders all happened too swiftly - no time for fear, no satisfaction for the killer."

"Then these killings were random? Mulder, that means we could be looking for five different murderers. Five separate murders committed in such a small area by five different people in a town the size of Reno... " she began.

"The odds would be almost astronomical," he finished. "In the last ten years there have only been 17 unsolved murders in the metropolitan Reno area out of a total of 154. That's an average of 15 murders a year, and most of those are the result of domestic violence or gang activities."

"So what are we looking at here?"

"I admit the evidence so far is confusing, but I think these murders are related somehow, and so do the local authorities."

"I thought you just said it wasn't a serial killer," Dana commented. "So what then, an overzealous security guard?"

Mulder shook his head. "Even though the cause of death is different in each case, which would tend to indicate five separate murderers, they're tied together somehow and not just by location. Each victim was killed in a decidedly bizarre fashion. Even your most psychotic security guard wouldn't have been able to pull off these murders." Mulder ran a hand through his hair, as if the action could order the facts in his brain to let him see everything clearly and find the one piece of evidence that would solve the mystery. "It's just so damn incongruous," he finally said. "On one hand the evidence would seem to indicate that each murder is an unrelated incident for no two individuals showed any similarities in the cause of death. They were all just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yet there's something else going on here, Scully, I just know it. In some strange, unexplained way, they all have a similar, familiar feel." Mulder shuddered visibly.

"Serial killings," Dana muttered. They were back to serial killings. Damn.

After what he'd just told her about his experience in the VCU, she hoped he wasn't headed down that road again.

"If it is a serial killer, it's a new breed," Mulder said. "These deaths are too clean and I don't perceive any emotion from viewing the crime scene photographs. There's no rage, no hatred, no control, no gratification nothing. It's almost as if the life taken was insignificant and that's what's so terrifying about these crimes. The indifference. Whoever or whatever did this has no more regard for the taking of a human life than you do when you squash a cockroach. They were all too precise and impersonal. Serial killers are anything but impersonal. These people were exterminated without emotion and with logical precision, with no witnesses, murder weapons, or apparent struggles. I'm not certain I know how to get into this one. I'm not sure that I even want to. What if I get inside this nightmare," he said heavily while tapping his forefinger lightly against his temple, "And I can't get out?"

Mulder shifted in his seat, lowering his eyes, hoping to hide the unspoken terror he knew she'd recognize if she were allowed to see them. "I'm getting a very bad feeling about this, Dana. You know the old saying, 'something's rotten in Denmark'? Well, it looks like something is really rancid in Reno. I can't afford mistakes, I can't kill myself anymore getting into worm-eaten, maggot filled minds. Risking everything never mattered that much to me before because I didn't think I had anything to lose."

He looked pleadingly up into Dana's eyes with uncertainty and not just a little confusion, then lovingly laid a caressing hand across the gentle bulge of her belly. "Now there's so goddamn much at stake that I'm afraid that maybe I've lost the edge necessary to survive this macabre game. I find myself thinking that I don't want you and the baby in the line of fire," he laid a finger across her lips to stop a heated reply, needing to explain himself just a little before she blasted him. "I'm sorry, but I can't help it. I want you home, safe, and away from this. God, I'm a fucking male chauvinist pig. My mind tells me you're a trained professional and can take care of yourself and our child, but my heart screams bloody murder and tells my brain that it doesn't know what the fuck its talking about. That's when I act like an asshole and get your 'enlightened male' lecture," he sighed tiredly.

Dana surprised him by leaning over gently kissing his lips. She knew he'd been at odds with himself over this issue for quite some time and her present condition just brought everything to a head. What he was feeling wasn't unusual and in a normal profession with a normal life, it would have been accepted a normal reaction. Their not so normal job, however, naturally amplified his anxieties and she could see that the resulting stress was not healthy. She had been thinking about this very subject quite a bit herself, lately. It was a given that Skinner would have to separate them, at least officially. She would, however, still find a way to work with her husband in one way or another, helping him unravel the puzzles in his search for the truth. You've got to make him see that what he feels isn't one sided.

Dana smiled radiantly. "Well, if you're a 'fucking male chauvinist pig,' then I must be the female version," she chuckled. "I can't say that I'm exactly overjoyed when you get yourself shot, poisoned, beat up, blown up, folded, spindled, and mutilated. And as for losing your edge? Knowing that you'll think a little more before jumping into the fire pleases me to no end. You always were too damn reckless. You know, Mulder, if I knew this was all it would take to make you more responsible, I would have gotten knocked up a long time ago," she snorted sardonically.

Mulder nearly swallowed his tongue. She never ceased to amaze him.

"Hell, if I'd have known you felt that way, I would have tried harder," he managed to choke out.

"You're impossible," she growled and without thinking, playfully smacked him in the face with the small airline pillow that she'd pulled from the overhead compartment along with the thin, blue blanket.

An explosion of agony ripped through Mulder's cheek, traveling down his jawline and back up again. It burned through his skull into his nasal cavity, making his eyes water and causing an unexpected whimper to escape through the tightly clenched grimace of pain that gripped his mouth like an iron hand.

Dana, belatedly realizing what she'd done, cried out in sympathy.

"Ohmygod... I'm so sorry. Fox, are you okay?" Her fingers fluttered nervously near his face, wanting desperately to touch him but refraining from the action, fearing that the contact, however slight, would cause him even more pain.

Over the initial shock, Mulder's pain edged into a dull, constantly throbbing ache with only an occasional twinge lancing through his mouth. "S'all right," he slurred, unconvincingly trying to minimize an outward display of what he really felt. After all, he knew that she hadn't meant to hurt him and he could see in her eyes how worried she was.

He should have anticipated the pillow in the face as a natural response to his smart remark. They often resorted to juvenile horseplay which to his delight often ended up in some pretty imaginative adult foreplay. The infamous water pistol incident immediately came to mind and he found himself fighting off a chuckle that he knew would hurt if he gave into it.

Dana stared at him with a puzzled, worried look, and the sight of her serious expression over such a dumb accident sent him right over the edge.

Mulder simply couldn't dispel the comical image of a headline news announcer: 'dit dit dit dit dit dit...Newsflash!!!! Special Agent, Fox Mulder, seeker of truth, slayer of liver-eating mutant serial killers and six foot sewer flukies was beaten into submission today by a small, pregnant female wielding an eight ounce airline pillow... News at eleven....' "Mulder, are you all right? Mulder???" She was really worried now. He didn't appear to hear her and the stupid look on his face was at odds with the pain she knew he must be feeling.

Shoulders shaking, he finally nodded his head 'yes' as small incoherent sounds escaped past his tightly pursed lips. Mulder made a serious effort not to laugh which was a big mistake. The more he tried to control it the worse the urge became until the sound broke free and burst forth accompanied by a fine spray of moisture that spewed unerringly over Dana's features.

"Oh, yuck!" she yelped. "You spit on me! I swear, Mulder, I'm gonna get you for this." Wiping her face with the back of her hand, she waited patiently for an explanation for this sudden uncharacteristic outburst.

"Oh, God. I'm sorry," he croaked, alternately gasping with pain and hiccuping with laughter. Way to go, buttmunch, he thought to himself.

Spraying spit all over the place is not the way to endear yourself to loved ones, family, and friends. A naughty thought quickly came to mind, something that seemed to be occurring a lot lately, he mused. While his better judgment tried in vain to talk him out of actually saying what he was thinking, it accidentally slipped out before common sense could override the impulse. "It's just that having my bodily fluids on your face never bothered you before," he replied sweetly. Oh shit... damn... think, Mulder.

What do you want on your gravestone? Please, God -- tell me I didn't actually say that?

Too late. The sharp feel of a tiny foot impacting with his shin convinced him that he actually had said what he'd hoped he hadn't. At least he didn't have to kick himself around the block. Scully seemed more than willing to do that for him. Mulder bent over and gingerly rubbed the bruise he knew was forming on his leg and did the only thing he could do without getting himself in any deeper -- smile sheepishly and grovel if necessary.

"Ok, now that we have established a little control here, do you mind telling me what was so funny?" she asked with a glare she couldn't maintain. Her expression softened and a smile crept up to her lips to replace the previous thin line of annoyance.

Mulder wiped the tears from his eyes, took a deep breath to calm himself, and attempted to describe the mental picture that had caused him to lose it in the first place. "Oh, by the way," he added when he'd finished. "I also had this brief flashback of the water pistol war."

Dana acknowledged that memory with a self-satisfied grin her own. They'd been in the office after a fun-filled weekend of watching his cousin's kids from hell. The case load had been light and all in all it had been an uneventful boring day of reviewing files and typing reports. She'd been in the middle of one particularly uninteresting case file when she suddenly felt a sensation of wetness spreading over her right breast. Sure enough, a downward glance confirmed that the white silk of her blouse was clinging transparently to her skin. A quick look up also revealed a very studious looking Fox Mulder hunched over a file on his desk. She'd checked the ceiling, half expecting to see a leak, and finding none, slid her chair over to one side just in case before forcing her attention back into the file. A few minutes later the sensation had returned only this time it'd been over her left breast. She'd looked up again, trying to find a source for the water and noted that Mulder was still seated innocently at his desk, apparently oblivious to anything save the file he was reading. This pattern had continued for several minutes until the entire front of her blouse was stuck seductively to her chest. She'd decided early on that if this had been the result of a 'leak,' it was awfully damn selective on where it fell. She'd also had her suspicions on who and what had been responsible but hadn't been able to catch him in the act. When they'd gotten up to leave he'd actually had the balls to raise both eyebrows in mock surprise and with a glint in his eyes, asked her if she'd purchased a new bra. She'd ignored the question, covered herself with her jacket, and took the ornery imp home with her where she'd finally caught him with his cousin's water gun.

Well, she'd had occasions to babysit too, only her relatives went in for the 'big guns.' He'd been so smug, zapping her as she ran into the kitchen until she'd returned with a PP2000 Super Soaker Water Rifle aimed in his direction. Realizing that he was hopelessly outgunned, he'd ducked behind her couch and an all out water war had erupted in her living room. Mulder had eventually been forced into terms of surrender when he'd run out of ammo, and she'd spent the remainder of the evening enforcing said terms and shamelessly having her way with him.

With that very pleasant thought freshly replayed in her memory, Dana leaned into Mulder and snuggled her head against his chest. Mulder covered them both with the thin blanket while draping his arm over her shoulder. She felt the heat radiating from his body and noted that he was probably running a low grade fever. That's it, she decided sleepily. When they got to Reno, he was going to the damn dentist even if she had to handcuff him and drag him in by his nuts.

Mulder's arm draped over Dana's shoulder, his hand rested comfortably over one firm, luscious, and very huge breast. His fingers absently traced lazy circles around a rock hard point that just begged for attention. "Titty fairy's arrived," he mumbled happily while gently fondling her beneath the soft, blue blanket. "Not that they weren't big enough before," he whispered in her ear as exhaustion took over and he began to slip into welcomed slumber, his lingering smile matching the one gracing the lips of the sleeping woman that he now held tenderly in his arms.

Sheila Tyler had been a flight attendant for over eight years and prided herself on being able to read just about any passenger they could throw at her. She stared at the young couple in seats 4A and 4B and had to admit she'd been stumped. When they'd first boarded, she pegged them as siblings because of the way they'd argued and teased. Then after overhearing snatches of their conversation, she'd had to amend her original opinion to perhaps friends or partners. But it wasn't until he'd laid his hand on her stomach and she'd kissed him that she suspected they might be lovers. Now as she contemplated waking them to prepare for landing, she noticed a strategically placed hand possessively covering a part of the young woman's anatomy, something that had, until recently, been covered by the blanket. They must have shifted it off during their sleep.

Sheila giggled. Yes, these two were definitely complicated and special. She sensed something rare and beautiful between them that defied definition.

Sheila loudly cleared her throat, making sure they heard her before approaching them to ask that they return their seats to an upright position.

If she'd learned anything in those eight years, it was discretion.

Chapter 5: Male Bonding For Beginners And Other Frightening Rituals

Reno Police Dept.
Homicide Division

Jake Moorehouse glared at his computer terminal. E mail - freaking e mail.

At least in the old days when he got bad news, he had a piece of paper to scrunch up and take his frustration out on. Now it was just words on a fancy monitor, and captains frowned on their detectives trashing expensive computer equipment. Especially when budgets were tight, and these days budgets were always tight.

He pushed his chair forcefully away from his desk and stood up, growling like a wounded grizzly bear. He didn't need this kind of aggravation, he really didn't. If this case wasn't frustrating enough already, now he was gonna have to contend with a couple of smug, know it all, preppie Fibbies on top of everything else.

"I gave up my retirement in sunny Florida for this?" he shouted through a bullhorn he'd picked up on shelf by the door. "I didn't ask for no goddamn assistance," he bellowed, carelessly throwing the bull horn into the chair by his partner's desk.

"Come on, man. Give it a rest, Jake," Tony Goldman said, looking up from the numerous files that cluttered his otherwise spotless desk.

Jake glared around the bullpen, noticing that the other cops in the room were studiously ignoring him. "The FBI," he snorted, flopping back into his chair. "You ever had any experience with the 'FBI'?" he asked his partner.

"Not much," Tony admitted.

"Well, I have," Jake said. "Can't tell you how much fun it was, partner.

You're gonna just love it," he grumbled, turning back to his computer screen.

Sometimes Tony just couldn't figure his partner out. Ok, so the guy had a good twenty years on him, but it was more than just a generation thing.

From all accounts Jake Moorehouse was set for life. He didn't need to work, in fact had retired to Florida with a healthy nestegg. Most cops Tony knew lived for the day they could afford to retire, and counted themselves lucky when they retired with all their limbs intact. But here Jake was, right back in the line of fire, putting himself through all this aggravation.

"Look, maybe it won't be so bad," Tony said. "The guy the FBI is sending us is supposed to be an expert in weirdness. And right now, partner, it looks like the only way we're gonna stop this crazy bastard is by sicking another crazy bastard on his ass."

Jake snorted loudly. "Yeah, but a goddamn 'Fibbie' for pete sake? The craziest thing those namby-pamby pretty boys do is rearrange their underwear drawers. FBI my ass," he complained. "More like Fucking Bumbling Idiots if you ask me."

Jake pecked out a few commands on his computer terminal, taking his frustration out on the keyboard while he continued muttering under his breath. He didn't see the look of embarrassment that began covering Tony's face. Concentrating on the information on the screen, he didn't turn around when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Whoever it was could just wait a goddamn minute. The second tap really annoyed him. "Yeah, who is it and what the hell do you want?"

"Head Fucking Bumbling Idiot in charge, on assignment to assist with your on-going murder investigation," replied a voice that Jake found vaguely familiar.

Detective Moorehouse spun around just as Mulder continued in an amused tone, "And I have never rearranged my underwear drawers. Does rearranging Agent Scully's drawers count?" he asked with a sly grin.

That dangerous remark earned him a poke in the ribs from Scully and a loud guffaw from Jake. "Only if you sniff em', kid... only if you sniff 'em," Jake said, slapping Mulder on the back. Tony sat back in his chair, amazed at his partner's sudden change in demeanor. It seemed like there was at least one Fibbie who wasn't in the Fucking Bumbling Idiot section.

Scully flashed them both a warning glare. "This conversation is quickly engaging in a downward slide into the sewer," she hissed while adopting her most intimidating stance. "May I suggest that for now you two can the locker room humor and concentrate on solving this case?"

Whoa!! Jake smiled in spite of himself. He'd forgotten what a feisty broad this little redhead could be. It was just like her to remind him. "Nice to see you, too, red," he quipped. Turning away from the obstinate woman who was impatiently tapping one foot on the stained, broken tiles that constituted the homicide department's floor, Jake noticed that Mulder had adopted a full blown pout in response to his partner's rebuke. Jake swore he'd never met anyone who could look so damn pitiful when the situation called for it. Right now Mulder's puss kinda reminded him of one of those Arctic baby seals they'd plastered all over those National Geographics...just before the hunters pounded on their tiny little heads.

Though the kid certainly looked better than the last time he'd seen him, Jake still had the impression that he wasn't quite up to snuff yet. Of course it could be his imagination, but Mulder looked a bit flushed and a little out of it. "So," Jake broke the temporary silence. "How you feelin', you pain in the ass Fibbie? Last time we parted company you were so much dog meat," he baited him quietly.

"I'm fine," Mulder answered with the expected social response.

"No, he's not," Scully said. "He's got an abscessed tooth, he's running a fever, and he's cranky as hell. Moorehouse, I would appreciate it if you could do me the favor of knocking some sense into that thick skull of his."

"I just happen to know a great dentist who opens early and closes late.

After all, Reno is a 24 hour town. Bet I could get you in later tonight.

Whaddaya say?"

"Can't," Mulder hedged. "I've got an hour for you to brief us on whatever you've got on this case, then I've got a wedding to got to at seven," he risked a side glance at his partner. Dana smiled and her disposition softened noticeably.

"Who's the poor bastard who's fallin' into that pit of legal slavery?"

Moorehouse asked with a snicker.

"Me," Mulder mumbled with a shrug.

"Okay, this is probably a stupid question, but who are you marryin'?"

Mulder hesitated. He'd said too much and was unsure of whether or not he could trust Jake to keep things low key. "Um...." Mulder stuttered.

"Me," Dana jumped in, making his decision for him.

"Isn't there some kind of rule against that sort of thing in the Bureau?" asked Tony, speaking for the first time.

Jake, realizing that he'd committed a major social goof, hastily introduced his partner.

"Ah, sorry. I forgot. This is my partner, Tony Goldman, proverbial wet blanket. These two." He motioned toward the two suits in front of him, "Are the FBI's most unwanted -- Fox Mulder and Dana Scully."

Tony shook hands with both of them. "Actually, Detective Goldman, it's not exactly against the rules," Scully said, releasing his hand. "But then again relationships between partners are not that well received either, so we would appreciate your discretion until we're ready to explain our situation to our superiors."

Tony looked at Jake's approving smile. He'd never seen his gruff partner so openly soppy with anyone, especially with Feds, of all people. From the first day on the job, Jake had always been adamant of his complete disregard, distrust, and dislike for Feds in general, yet here he stood facing two of the FBI's finest with obvious respect and genuine affection. These guys must indeed be something special to get this kind of reception from Jake 'Feds are assholes' Moorehouse.

"Haven't heard a thing," Tony mumbled with a bemused smile.

Jake made his way over to Dana and embraced her in a warm, friendly hug.

His brain registered that she'd put on a few pounds while another more animalistic part of his mind told him that she was still drop dead gorgeous.

"You really gonna marry that walking wreck?" he teased, motioning toward Mulder.

Dana's eyes sparkled with laughter. "Can't help it, Jake. I have to marry him."

Jakes eyes widened briefly as the corners of his mouth pulled back into a toothy grin. Well, I'll be damned, he thought to himself as his gaze drifted back to Mulder. This kid was just full of surprises.

Taking Mulder's hand in a firm grip, he pounded on Mulder's back with affection. "Congrats, kid. But didn't nobody ever tell you not to go muff divin' without a wetsuit? Playin' hide the salami is one thing, but unless you learn to wear a party hat before you take the plunge, that gorgeous dame over there is gonna forget what her freakin' toes look like."

"Jesus, Jake," Tony breathed. Sometimes Moorehouse could embarrass even him, and that was bad. Tony'd been taught that you didn't talk like that in front of a lady, especially not a colleague.

"S'ok, Tony. They know I don't mean nothing by it, dontcha', red?"

Actually, she didn't look convinced, but she didn't look like she was going to belt him either, so he guessed he was safe so far. Of course, he couldn't leave well enough alone. "But as far as the kid here goes, it looks like big Jake is gonna have to give you a few pointers. Didn't your daddy teach you nothin'?"

Mulder stammered and stared at an unidentifiable spot on the floor.

"Actually, uh... no, he didn't," came the soft reply. Mulder broke the silence that followed by clearing his throat.

Jake used that cue to cut in with another remark to lighten up an unexpected reaction that had turned into something a little more serious than he'd intended. "Well, then, I guess we're gonna have to do somethin' about your education."

Raising his head up to look Jake in the eye, Mulder also raised his voice in mock annoyance. "Moorehouse, you have got to be the most tactless, crude, and crass son of a bitch on the face of the fucking earth," he paused for effect. "So when do we start?"

Jake snorted with approval, reminded of just why in the hell he liked this kid.

No, no, oh no, no... Dana panicked. Fox Mulder getting sex education tips from the likes of Jake Moorhouse made about as much sense as tits on a boar. She'd have to nip this in the bud right now. Mulder was far from virginal. She could attest to that fact first hand. He needed no help from Jake or anyone else in that respect in any way, shape, or form. She better do something and fast before Detective Moorehouse screwed up what, in her opinion, was pure perfection. Mulder, in spite of his worldliness, could still be as impressionable as a three-year-old, and Jake was one individual she *didn't* want as a role model for Mulder to emulate.

"You know, I hate to break up this little episode of male bonding," Scully interrupted. "But don't you guys think we should review the case before we have to go?"

"What's the matter, Red?" Jake baited her. "Afraid I'll corrupt the man?"

Dana smiled dangerously. "Actually Jake, I think there is very little you could possibly teach him. However, if you come across something you think I'd like, he's got photographic memory. Let him watch."

Woo hoo!!! Man this was one dame he wished wasn't taken. Even now he still found it hard to believe these two kids were Feds. Life was just so much more interesting when they were around.

Undisclosed Location
3:00 p.m.

A thick cloud of smoke hung heavily in the small, featureless room. Blank, unadorned walls faded into shadows as the smoke swirled around the sole source of light, a small desk lamp sitting on a large, empty desk. The source of the smoke sat in a government issue chair behind the desk; the chair in front of the desk was empty, but that didn't mean the smoker was alone. Far from it. The smoker's cold, red-rimmed eyes peered through the haze to settle unflinchingly upon a tall dark figure concealed within one shadowed corner.

"The retrieval team located the wreckage, but they have yet to find the onboard intelligence and guidance system," the voice from the darkness reported without inflection. "We are forced to assume that either 1) the others have recovered the equipment and are reneging on their agreement, 2) the collective has retrieved its property, in which case the technology will be lost to you since they are unwilling to share, or 3) a third party witnessed the accident and removed the items out of curiosity or personal gain."

The smoker knew without even looking that each of these points had been ticked off on slightly elongated fingers. He had learned long along to anticipate the actions and responses of others, even this one. Especially this one.

"I highly doubt that the others would compromise their position with us after all these years," his visitor continued, "And I know for a fact that the collective is still frantically searching for its property. That only leaves only the third, and most unsavory alternative -- chance discovery by an individual or individuals. Such an unexpected variable in the equation makes this situation highly unstable. Since there are very few human beings who would be capable of identifying let alone discerning the object's function, we may assume that it is more than likely taking up residence on a mantle somewhere as a tourist's souvenir of their trip to the desert. We are, however, monitoring all communications for any references to the artifact."

The dark silhouette stepped away from his position against the wall to stand menacingly above the smoking man, who worked hard to repress a shudder. There was a reason his visitor usually stayed in the shadows. "I shouldn't have to remind you that this item must be recovered at all costs.

There will be no reprieve for whoever is responsible for its disappearance."

The tall, unnaturally thin figure walked toward the door, then turned as if he'd forgotten something. "Oh, by the way, sources have informed me of the presence of Agent Mulder in the immediate vicinity. Is he involved in this debacle?"

The man Agent Mulder knew only as Cancerman squashed his cigarette butt in the ashtray with practiced abandonment and slowly blew out the smoke from his last drag in a billowing cloud. "Not to my knowledge," he answered in a breathy voice, secretly enjoying his visitor's obvious discomfort as the smoke swirled around his head. The discomfort his smoking caused others was just another reason he'd never given it up.

"Agent Mulder was assigned to investigate a series of murders in the downtown area, nothing more. His presence here is coincidental and is not, at the moment, related to our little problem."

His visitor being raised a warning digit and spoke with authority. "Then you will not mind if we continue to monitor his movements. Fox Mulder's unique heritage unerringly draws him toward what he perceives as truth.

His propensity for interference with us is unmatched, and I have no doubts that before this matter is resolved, he will become a nuisance to us in one way or another. If he becomes a problem, he will be dealt with accordingly."

"He won't become a problem. I'll see to it."

"I hope you do. For now, the others have requested that he be left to his own resources on the outside chance that in his present search, he might unknowingly stumble upon the prototype. There is a slight possibility that the prototype may recognize in him a familiar brain pattern, respond favorably and initiate contact. If we can use him...we will. Perhaps letting this one live has finally -- as you say -- paid off. However, the collective may also attempt to use his natural gifts. This must not be allowed. Is that understood?"

Cancerman lit up another cigarette, took a deep drag, and flicked the ashes nonchalantly to the floor. He nodded imperceptibly and watched with wary eyes as his visitor left the room. His promise to Bill Mulder was becoming harder and harder to keep.

He'd come into this game willingly, enjoying the power it gave him, but not Bill Mulder. Bill Mulder had joined up for the knowledge. In those days exciting things had been happening, new ideas were being discovered daily, but only a select few knew about them. Bill had been one of the purists, willing to overlook the power plays and political intrigue as long as he was allowed to continue his work. And he'd managed to hold out for a very long time, but in the end he'd had no choice. He'd been forced to sell out only in a last ditch effort to try and keep what was left of his family. They'd bought his silence for twenty-three years, but what had he gotten in return?

He'd lost it all. The guilt had eaten at Bill like maggots in rotting flesh, and when he could no longer accept what he'd done, he'd transferred that guilt and rage onto the boy he'd made his old colleague swear to protect.

Fox Mulder had inherited more than he knew from his father. Bill Mulder had had Fox's integrity once, but it had cost him dearly. His daughter had been taken as insurance that he keep his mouth shut; his son was left as a reminder of what could still happen. Instead of cherishing what remained, Bill could only agonize over the decision he'd had to make and mourn for what was lost. After all, he knew that the boy had been touched by the experiments they'd conducted, and that thought became an excuse for his cruelty. Cancerman watched his friend's son suffer both physical and mental abuse and had done nothing. His promise hadn't included protecting the boy from his own father.

He told himself that he'd kept his word the best that he could, even when the young man's brilliance, curiosity, and determination made it difficult.

When the dark ones demanded retribution, didn't he sacrifice his only friend? When they'd screamed for a life, hadn't he given them Agent Scully instead? That, he recalled with perfect hindsight, had been a major mistake. in his effort to save Mulder, he'd nearly lost him. With that single act, he'd unknowingly taken from Mulder a part of his soul that had enabled him to survive. He'd watched Mulder deteriorate so rapidly that he'd feared for the young man's life. He'd had to pull some major strings to get Scully returned to him. Even then, he'd almost been too late and it had nearly cost him his life at Mulder's very own hand. He remembered being momentarily uncertain as to whether or not Mulder would actually pull the trigger and had wondering briefly if he'd finally made a fatal miscalculation.

But Fox Mulder was his mother's son. Her gentleness and nobility was inbred too deeply to allow him to kill in cold blood. That fact had most certainly saved his chain-smoking ass that night. His colleagues regarded those attributes as exploitable weaknesses, and if Mulder wasn't careful, the same qualities that kept the agent from pumping a bullet into his enemy's head that night would be Mulder's downfall. In this game there was precious little tolerance for honor or mercy. He'd actually been quite serious when he'd told Mulder that he liked him. Mulder was a straight shooter, uncompromising in his beliefs, and brutally honest. Cancerman allowed himself a smile. He admired that in a man... too bad those things wouldn't keep Mulder alive Contrary to Mulder's belief, he had no desire to be the instrument of the young man's demise.

Squashing another half-smoked cigarette into an already overflowing ashtray, the 'friendless man with some power' pulled his cell phone from his pocket. A few phone calls later, he'd hassled the appropriate contacts and arranged to confiscate certain military recon footage shot over the area on the night the craft went down. If there was anyone in the vicinity, he'd know about it by morning.

Reno Police Dept.
Detective Bureau
4:30 p.m.

The four of them had taken nearly two hours in reviewing the files, including the color originals of each crime scene. Dana had to admit that they didn't look much different than the black and white copies they had in their files. Nothing new had jumped out at either of them by looking at the originals. Sometimes it happened and sometimes it didn't. Maybe they'd spot something when they actually visited the scenes tomorrow. They'd talked about going over to the casino today, but it was getting late and jet lag was starting to get to her. Better to do the site work tomorrow with a clear head. Tomorrow... Dana blew out a breath as a sudden case of nerves hit her. Tomorrow she would be a married woman.

She glanced over at her husband-to-be. If he had a case of pre-wedding jitters, it sure didn't show. Completely absorbed in thought, Mulder sat with his chair tipped back against the wall. Dana noticed that he'd completely chewed the eraser off the pencil he'd been nibbling on during his speculative introspection and was now gnawing absently on the wood.

Tony had gone for more coffee, an offer Dana had declined, and she was trying to combat her fatigue by pacing. Maybe moving around would get her energy level up. The worst part of her pregnancy so far had been the constant drain on her energy.

Dana jumped when a frustrated Moorehouse slammed his copies of the case files down on his desk with a loud pop. Well, that woke me up, she thought. It also sent a startled and precariously perched Mulder crashing to the floor with a thud.

"What the hell did you do that for, Moorehouse?" Mulder grunted while attempting to regain his seat. "I could have broken something important," he growled with a grin.

"And if that had happened, you would've had to answer to me, Jake," Dana warned with a glare.

"All right, all right. Gee, can't a guy blow off a little steam?" Jake grumbled. "Let's go over this one more time. Similarities??" he asked for the umpteenth time.

"They were all males and had been gambling at the Red Sands," Dana rattled off by rote.

"And winning," Tony added returning to the group and handing his partner a cup of what passed for coffee but more closely resembled motor oil.

Dirty motor oil.

"And considering the odds are stacked in favor of the house, that's unusual but doesn't seem to be a motive here since they all still had their loot," Jake finished. "Robbery's not a motive."

"There were no weapons found at the scene, no known witnesses, and no signs of obvious struggle," Dana continued, "In fact, the only thing out of the ordinary that I can see in any of these reports are the brownouts that occurred around the time of two of the crimes. I wouldn't even mention it except several casino employees noticed it. And I can't see how that would tie into the investigation."

"How often do brownouts happen around here, Tony?" Jake asked his partner. He remembered them being pretty common back east, but he couldn't remember experiencing any since he's moved to Reno.

Tony shrugged. "Usually only happens during fire season, when a main supply line from California gets interrupted by a wildfire and they have to switch over to a new main line, or when lightning knocks out a transformer."

Jake frowned. "I don't remember any thunderstorms or fires." Winter weather in Nevada was pretty fucking weird as far as he was concerned. In the 70's in December, snowed like hell in January, and now at the end of February they were being deluged with rain and the locals were worried that the river which ran through town was going to flood. This was supposed to be a desert for Chrissakes.

"Me, either," Tony agreed. "Too wet for fires, and we usually don't start getting thunderstorms until April or May. I'll find out what the power company has to say about it."

"Hell, it's probably nothing," Jake grumbled as his partner left to make the call. "We're just grasping at straws here."

Dana sat on one corner of the desk that Mulder had confiscated, awaiting his input. They might be grasping at straws, but she'd bet Mulder was onto something. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet except for the little wheels she could almost hear turning inside his brain. He leaned forward, pressing his fingers into a loose pyramid near his chin.

Dana giggled to herself. When he took this reflective pose, he sort of reminded her of Mr. Spock. As if reading her thoughts, he lifted one eyebrow in a questioning motion which made her laugh and nearly caused her to slide off the desk. Quickly catching herself before she landed on the floor, Dana somehow managed to keep a straight face.

"Dana?" he asked tentatively. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, I'm just great, Sherlock, just... great. I lost my balance for a moment, that's all," she lied.

"You sure?" he prodded insistently.

"Yes, I'm sure," she said, adding an annoyed edge to her voice for effect while attempting to change the subject. "Ok, we've ruled out serial killers and simple robbery. So what's left? Ritualistic cult murders? I mean, each victim was killed in a way that could only be termed as bizarre. We've already determined that each cause of death was as different as the MO, so I would be forced to assume that there was more than one perpetrator involved. Could this be the result of several individuals acting together with a common purpose -- such as it was with the Manson family murders?"

"No." Mulder's reply was succinct and uttered with a conviction as steadfast as his belief in truth. And was a flat dismissal of her idea.

"No? What do you mean, no? Aren't you at least willing to listen to what I have to say?" she argued, eyes flashing with fire. Her idea had merit. It was simple, straightforward, and with the known information, the most plausible solution she could come up with, so of course Mulder wouldn't go for it. Oh, no - as far as he was concerned, everything always had to have some convoluted explanation. Why did Mulder feel that every case that they took had to have conspiracies, aliens, or unexplained phenomena?

No, that wasn't true, she told herself guiltily. He was more than willing to except a normal explanation when it was warranted, which lately wasn't often enough. What did she expect, anyway? They didn't get normal cases so how could she hope for normal answers? The sole reason they were on this case in the first place was the undeniable fact that the authorities deemed this situation decidedly 'not normal.' But that still didn't soothe her hurt feelings. Dana looked across the room to Jake, hoping for some support in curbing Mulder's tendency toward wild speculation only to find him staring at her partner with an intrigued rather than skeptical expression. Oh god, now Mulder's going to get him going, too. She at least thought she could count on the no nonsense sensibilities of the gruff, ex-New York cop to help keep Mulder in line, but she knew that once that familiar light appeared in his eyes, Mulder's enthusiasm and dedication were difficult to resist. Now it was too late to cut him off at the pass.

As much as she loved him, he could be so damn frustrating at times like this. What was he thinking? What had become so clear to him that no one else, including her, could see? And how did she know that his theories, whatever they were would be something she'd never even have considered, ideas that would probably stretch her imagination and test her precarious beliefs in extreme possibilities?

And why the hell wouldn't he put some faith in her ideas?

"Dana... " Mulder began. "You know I'll always listen to what you have to say, but I don't think that this is the work of several people acting for a common purpose."

"And why not?" She wasn't about to back down, not just yet.

Jake stood up and stretched, his neck and back crackling loudly as he moved. It had been a long day and he wasn't as young as he used to be. He hated to see these two fight, even though they were so good at it. But they shouldn't be fighting on their wedding day. "Hey, I kinda liked Red's idea.

You got somethin' better, smart guy?" he asked with a wink aimed in Dana's direction.

And Moorehouse honestly wanted to hear Mulder's theories on this case.

He liked hearing the kid's thoughts no matter how far-fetched they seemed to be. After what had happened aboard the cruise ship back when he'd first met these two, he'd become a little more open-minded about things. That didn't mean he'd accept everything that poured from the kid's mouth as gospel, but at least he'd listen. Contrary to what most people thought, Mulder was far from being a nutcase. Sure the kid might have a few loose screws here and there, but the rest of his brain seemed to be torqued into place well enough. He just had an uncanny ability to make sense out of what would appear to be a chaotic mess of unexplained events. Maybe, just maybe, he could make some sense out of this shit. He knew he sure hated having to go over the same crap over and over again, and the fact that it hadn't gotten anywhere them anywhere was wearing his colleagues a little thin, too. The room was tense.

Mulder smiled, welcoming a little help in easing the tension. "Maybe not better ideas, just... different."

"How did I know you were gonna say somethin' like that?" Jake groaned.

"Psychic?" Mulder asked, raising both eyebrows and tilting his head slightly to one side as he shot off a rubber band, tagging Moorehouse's left earlobe.

"Nah, guess not or you would have seen that coming, huh?"

"Ow!!! You little Fibbie... piece of shit... motherfucker...son of a bitch!!"

For some reason, the sight of the big, tough New York City/Reno cop jumping up and down railing him with obscenities and rubbing his ear struck Mulder as tremendously funny and he found himself laughing harder than he had in a long time. It's more than likely some kind of stress release mechanism, the psychologist part of his mind analyzed. Bullshit, the little boy in him asserted. You just needed a good laugh.

"Oh, so you thinks that's funny, do you?" Jake grinned evilly. "You won't be laughin' so hard when I shove this night stick up your scrawny little ass, now will you?"

"Scully?!!" Mulder intoned with surprise. "Oooo, isn't that nice. Jake wants me to come out and play. I think he likes me," he whispered confidentially.

Dana raised her hand to her mouth and coughed lightly to cover a small chuckle that was threatening to escape. "Agent Mulder," she addressed him formally, reminding him of his 8th grade history teacher, Mrs. Zimmerman.

"Are two finished with this unfortunate display of unprofessional behavior?"

The two men stared at her with innocent surprise written all over their faces. "Whatever are you talking about, Agent Scully?" Mulder inquired with the naivete of a two-year-old.

Smiling, in spite of herself, she tried to regain some tone of professionalism. Somebody had to bring this conversation back to earth and as usual, it had to be her. "Ok, flukie bait," she asked with an exaggerated sigh. "Are you going to tell us your thoughts on this thing or keep us in suspense? I'm ready, let's hear it."

Well, now that he had their undivided attention and there was a marked decrease in the tension level in the room, he could review some of his impressions regarding this case. Granted, he had no real evidence since when did that ever stop you? to back up what he was about to say, and Scully would undoubtedly be the first one to remind him of that fact. All he truly had, for the most part, was speculation and a feeling.

Intuition and instinct always fought against fact and reason for dominance in his brain, and it was a struggle he'd had to deal with his whole life. A quiet voice lived inside him, guiding him, and over the years he'd learned to respect that voice. It wasn't something readily explainable. He didn't know how he knew certain things -- he just did. Just like he knew right now that Dana was finally ready to listen to his unproven leaps in logic by the look of patient tolerance that settled over her delicate features. Hell, maybe he was 'spooky' after all.

Mulder took a deep breath and ventured onto one of his most frequented and familiar perches -- out on a limb. "All the murders are similar.

Theoretically, there are no major differences in the way these people were killed. There is only one someone or something responsible for these deaths." Oh boy, he could already see the look of disbelief warring with the carefully cultivated appearance of open-minded objectivity displayed on her face. Disbelief won.

"Mulder, how can you possibly say that?!?" She picked up the coroner's reports off her desk, although she already knew the findings by heart.

"According to the county coroner, victim number one was decapitated.

Number two died of a blockage of the main arteries to the left and right ventricles, number three died of asphyxiation, and number four had an apparent fatal gunshot wound to the head. The fifth victim, I'm told, more than likely expired as a result of a heart attack. The second and last victims are only included in this case because of where they died, considering that what they died of are basically natural causes. What makes you think that all of these are the work of one individual -- if in fact all five were victims of foul play at all?"

"You said it yourself, Scully, back on the plane," Mulder reminded her.

"The odds against something like this happening randomly are astronomical. I think if we dig deeper, we're going to find out that the second and fifth victims died of decidedly unnatural causes."

Dana threw her hands up in the air and muttered some comment about Mulder's obsessive pigheadedness. "Okay, I admit that these reports aren't as thorough as I'd like. Hopefully when I examine the bodies, they'll tell me more than the reports could." Dana noticed Jake shifting his weight uncomfortably as he cleared his throat. "What is your problem?" she asked, aggravation nearly getting the best of her.

Jake shifted his position once again and spoke reluctantly. "Ah... there's only one body at the morgue."

"One body?!? What the hell happened to the others?" Dana asked harshly.

"Hey, remember short stuff, you were a late comer to this case. My case." Damn pushy broad, grilling him in his own bullpen. "You gotta understand, Red. These deaths happened over a five week period, and we didn't connect any of them until the third stiff showed up outside the same casino. Like you pointed out, number two just looked like a case of high cholesterol. The county coroner performed the autopsies on each victim, reported his findings, and released the stiffs to their respective families so they could torch or bury the poor shmucks. Life goes on, Agent Scully," he commented dully.

"Not for the poor shmucks," she uttered in a voice heavily laden with irony.

"I'm sorry, Jake," she apologized. "But how am I supposed to solve this puzzle when practically all the pieces are missing? What if the county coroner missed something? I'm sure he's competent, but maybe he wouldn't know what to look for. We've seen things that would curl your toes and make Ripley's Believe it or Not passe' by comparison."

Moorehouse stood his ground. "Look, I can't help you with the other corpses, but at least you've got one left that you can dig into tomorrow morning. If you find something unusual, we can get a court order to exhume the others, provided they weren't cremated."

Their voices had risen in volume as the disagreement picked up momentum and things didn't look like they were going to improve in the near future.

Mulder held up one hand in supplication. Ignored, he brought two fingers to his mouth with the other and whistled loudly, startling both combatants into silence. So much for having their undivided attention. "Whoa, take it easy. I'm sure the coroner did a more than adequate job," he said, diplomatically trying to smooth things over. The last thing he needed was to be at odds with the local law enforcement that he was sent here to assist.

Even Jake Moorehouse had his limits.

Pushing himself up from the chair, Mulder began pacing a path between their two desks. He thought better when he paced. Hell, he actually thought better when he was watching a good skin flick. Dana was one of the few people who understood that it wasn't sexual gratification he was after when he viewed this stuff, so much as the meaningless distraction it provided. Something about these monotonous movies relaxed him, allowing his mind to disengage and wander freely, unfettered by the constant buzz of interpreting, categorizing, and filing his brain had to employ to cope with a memory that couldn't forget and a mind that refused to shut down. Sherlock Holmes had his Strat violin -- Fox Mulder had 'Debbie Does Dallas.' Seemed like a fair comparison, and he'd decided long along that he'd definitely gotten the better deal in the Doctor Watson department.

Finally, Mulder stopped in front of Dana. "Scully, look, I know there are other tests you would have run if you'd been here, but this isn't Quantico.

You can run all the tests you want on Mr. Harris, and if anything strange shows up, we can dig up the others," he glanced over at Jake. "And the county coroner did note some interesting details in his reports. These people did not die of natural causes or anything close to normal foul play. If you two will just can it for a few minutes, I'll try to explain the anomalies rationally, although you both will probably think I'm just a little over the edge of insanity."

Jake and Dana glared at each other for a moment long, then sat back down, looking for all the world like mismatched boxers heading toward their respective corners.

"Scully, you were absolutely right. Mr. Bledsoe was without a doubt decapitated. But the manner in which he was decapitated is definitely unusual. According to the coroner, the man's head was pinched off, the way a naughty child would squeeze the head off a fly."

Moorehouse winced at the descriptive comparison and Dana paled a bit as well, remembering how close she'd come to loosing her own head to a town full of cannibals.

"The impressions left in the neck tissue suggest some sort of flat, jagged instrument," Mulder continued, "The jagged edges, however, were not pointed toward the flesh like say, the edge of a serrated knife, but were laid flat against the skin and pulled tight, like a giant-sized self-locking garbage bag tie. Whatever was used to kill this man passed entirely through muscle, flesh, and bone, popping the victim's head off his body. Now I may not be the strongest man in the world, but I doubt even Mr. Universe has the muscle to pull a noose that tight, that quickly."

Mulder turned his attention back to Jake. "At first glance it does appear that the second victim died of natural causes and I can see why you didn't connect the two deaths at first. But that's not the case. Although the second victim did technically die from blockages of the main arteries to his heart, when the good doc opened him up, instead of finding arteries blocked with cholesterol, he found normal, healthy tissue. The blood had backed up in his arteries for no apparent reason - it just couldn't get to his heart. In fact, there was no blood at all in the heart muscle or surrounding tissues. None."

Mulder moved on to victim number three. "Mr. Gardener died from lack of oxygen to the brain. He strangled, Scully, from what was initially thought to be an obstructed windpipe. Once again, however, when the autopsy was performed, all the man's airways were clear. No bruising or other evidence that suggests external pressure was applied to obstruct the windpipe, and no internal obstruction was found - he just couldn't breathe."

Scully saw a pattern between the second and third victims, now that Mulder laid it out this way. But what about victims one and four?

Something had ripped victim one's head from his body, and something had definitely been shot into victim number four. She arched an eyebrow at Mulder, daring him to explain the next death.

Mulder paced back over to the desk, plopped himself down next to Scully, and gazed at her stubbornly. "The last report tells us that victim number four died of a bullet wound to the head, but guess what, Dr. Scully?

Despite the existing evidence of damage and trauma from a bullet wound, there was no exit wound yet no bullet was found in the victim... nothing, nada, zilch, zip. Now that is a true magic bullet."

Dana remembered another case from another time, a time when she and Mulder hadn't been working together, a case where the power of suggestion had been decidedly deadly. "You're not suggesting someone controlled the victims' minds, made them believe they were being shot, decapitated, smothered, or suffering from heart attacks, are you?"

Mulder shook his head. "I don't think even Preacher could make someone lose their head like that. This is something else entirely," he leaned in to argue his point home. "But I do submit, Agent Scully, that it is the uniqueness of each of these crimes that bind these cases together. In being so uniquely different, they're ultimately the same. They are all identical in their implausibility."

Dana narrowed her eyes and stuck out her chin in controlled defiance. "Fox Mulder, don't you dare start handing out that intellectual gobbly-gook to me because I'm not ready to bite -- not just yet anyway."

Jake watched their heated exchange with rapt fascination. These two had been locking horns over their perspective theories for nearly an hour with neither side showing any signs of concession. Now they stood nearly touching, obstinately facing one another while silently sharing an unyielding stare. How this young couple, so at odds with each other, could be work partners, let alone life partners, was a mystery to him. If he hadn't witnessed this behavior before on the ship, he wouldn't have given them even half a chance of surviving each other. However, he knew from experience that whatever their differences, nothing would ever separate them. Sooner or later one would concede or both would compromise, and life would go on. Hell, maybe if he'd disagreed more openly with his ex-wife, had been able to get stuff off his chest and blow off a little steam once in a while, maybe she'd still be with him.

Looking up into the intensity of Mulder's piercing eyes, Dana saw the determination of her own eyes reflected in his dark iris'. She couldn't help but admire his strength and willingness to fight for what he believed to be true -- even when he was wrong, she added with a mental growl. In any case, this was getting them no where fast so it was about time for a change in tactics.

Damn, Mulder brooded. Maybe he did jump to conclusions a little too often, but he didn't think this was one of those times. No, this time he was right, he knew it. How he knew, he wasn't sure, but he was right. No matter what she said, he respected her opinion and admired her tenacity even if she was wrong. Still, he should at least consider her point of view...only, of course, if she considered his. Well, someone had to start, and it might as well be him. "Scully," he began. "I'll concede that..." The sentence was left unfinished as hot, sensuously wet lips pressed themselves demandingly over his and practically sucked the air right out of his lungs.

Damn, Jake thought with amusement as he watched what was clearly the end of this round of the discussion. He sure admired the way this dame argued. Judging from the lip-lock she had on the kid, it was a wonder his skull didn't implode from the vacuum. Chances are Mulder wouldn't have known it if it had since any rational thoughts he might have had were now scrambling for cover, and the ones that remained were engaging in a swift southward march that would have made Grant proud, to take up residence in his crotch.

Women could be downright devious, Moorehouse noted. Then again, most men were more than willing to be dissuaded by a woman's appeal to their baser instincts. Serves us right I guess, he chuckled to himself. Good thing the bullpen was empty at the moment. He didn't give a rat's ass what they did. In fact they could do the horizontal bump on his desk for all he cared, but there was always some asshole who'd make a big deal about it. Better break up this wrestling match post haste before Tony came back from his call to the power company.

"Quittin' time," Jake yelled looking at his watch. "Past quittin' time." No reaction - so much for being subtle. "Hey... knock it off!" Jesus, these guys were single minded. "Yo!!" he yelled as he walked over and tugged on Mulder's shoulders. "Aren't you guys supposed to get married in a couple of hours? It's 5:30 now."

Mulder pulled away reluctantly. "Oh shit, he's right. Damn it Dana, that's not fair. I forgot what I was going to say. You did that on purpose, didn't you? I can't think when you do that," he added with exasperation.

"I know." She grinned impishly.

"We'll finish this discussion later," Mulder promised, "but now we've got to go see Reverend Collins."

"Is that what you're going to wear to our wedding?" she asked, eying his rumpled suit.

He looked at himself and back up to her, mischief playing about the corners of his eyes. "What's wrong with my suit? It's an Armani."

"But it's soiled and sweaty," she observed, pulling at his sleeves.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear, his warm breath tickling her neck.

"Of course it's soiled and sweaty. It's been through three airports and traveled over a couple thousand miles. Anyway, I thought you liked slightly soiled and sweaty things," he snickered.

Dana pushed him away with one finger. "Not in a suit."

He waggled an eyebrow at her. "We could always take care of that."

She marveled at the fact that even though his jaw and cheek seemed to be swelling to the point of exploding, he didn't appear to be in that much pain at the moment. And that was an awfully goofy grin spreading across his face. Something odd was going on here. It was then she noticed the empty tube of gum goop on the desk, right next to an empty prescription bottle.

She had a bad feeling about this. Picking up the small plastic container only confirmed her suspicions - pain killers prescribed for someone who was definitely not Fox Mulder. Perks... for crissakes, he was on perks, and at a strength prescribed for someone nearly twice his size.

"Moorehouse!" she bellowed at the top of her lungs.

Jake sighed. Well, he'd almost made it out the door. He should have known she'd figure it out sooner or later. One thing this dame was not was dumb, and not much got past her.

"What's the big deal?" he asked. "I was just tryin' to help. You don't want the poor guy doubling over in the middle of the ceremony do you? He sure wasn't gonna make it on aspirin."

Dana knew he meant well, but goddamn it, you just didn't give perks to people. Mulder had such a weird medical history, who knew how he'd react to the damn things? That was why he usually refused drugs if he had a choice. His tooth must really be giving him fits if he resorted to sneaking drugs behind her back. "Mulder, are you all right?"

"I feel just fucking great," he beamed with a carefree smile. "But we really do need to get to the church on time..." A light bulb went off in his head and he couldn't get that damn song out of his mind.

"Oh that's just wonderful," she sighed with a glare focused on Jake. "Now I'm going to have to listen to at least fifty renditions of 'I'm Getting Married in the Morning.' I'm gonna kill whoever took him to see My Fair Lady.

Come on, Mulder."

"Can I drive?" he asked eagerly.

"No!" was her only reply.

Mulder openly pouted as she led him from the room, down the hall and out the door. There's no law against driving with a toothache. It still hurt but he just didn't care. He was getting married.

6:00 p.m.

Lily Morgan leafed through the photo album on her lap. Why in the world she'd gotten this old thing out was beyond her. But the TV hadn't held her interest, the suspense novel she'd been reading had suddenly lost its appeal, and she was way too nervous to leave her apartment. For all she knew the police could be watching her. The police, or someone else.

The glossy photos had faded a little with age. You'd think after what her parents dished out for the photographer, he'd have at least used decent quality stock to print the pictures. Page after page of a smiling young woman in a lacy white dress. Hard to believe that had been her.

And there was Larry. In those days he had been handsome, even in that dreadful blue tux he'd insisted on renting. He thought it made him look cool, but it really made him look like a bad Elvis impersonator straight out of one of those cheesy beach bimbo movies. But Larry couldn't carry a tune to save his life; about the only way he took after Elvis was the booze and the drugs. And those had made him mean.

Of course, as a kid of 18, fresh out of high school, Lily hadn't been smart enough to spot Larry's problems. She'd been swept off her feet, all caught up in her love affair with an older man of 25. She hadn't listened when her parents pointed out that Larry'd dropped out of college and had a dead-end job at the sawmill. Larry said he loved her, wanted to marry her and take care of her for the rest of her life. And she'd listened to him, ignoring her worried friends and family. God help her, she'd listened only to him.

Turning the pages, she came to the photos of her wedding reception.

They'd had a party the night before while they decorated the park. Beer kegs and hot dogs, climbing the trees to hang balloons and streamers.

They'd all gotten pretty blitzed, and some of Larry's friends had gone a little overboard with the decorations. She wondered if her parents had figured out that some of the balloons had come from little foil packages instead of the party supply store.

There she was stuffing cake in Larry's face, their expressions frozen for all time. Thankfully the photographer had managed to miss the mess Larry had made rubbing icing all over her face. The next shot showed the happy couple toasting each other. Larry with a drink. It had become a familiar sight.

Not that their marriage had been all bad, at least not right away. She'd gone to college part time, with a day job as a waitress to help earn a little extra money. They were saving for a house and kids and every little bit helped.

Larry picked her up from the restaurant every day, showering her with attention, and got drunk every night. The first time he hit her was when she suggested that maybe he might be drinking just a tad too much.

No one had ever hit her in anger before, and she had been stunned. And ashamed, thinking that maybe she'd deserved it somehow. She'd actually apologized to him, he'd cried and said he was sorry, and things went back to normal for a while. Until the sawmill shut down and Larry lost his job.

It was an ages old argument in all Northern California mill towns environmentalists versus the lumber industry. All the old-timers said it was just a temporary setback, that the liberals out to save the environment would get bored, take up some new cause and leave, and then things could go back to normal. But tempers still ran high, including Larry's. Frustrated and bored out of his skull, not only did his drinking increase, but he'd found a new bad habit in drugs. Lily'd had to quit school and go to work full time just to keep them one step away from bankruptcy.

Lily wanted to leave, to try their luck somewhere else, but Larry wouldn't hear of it. He'd been born in Mccloud, lived his whole life there, and he'd be damned if some piddly-assed pansy from Washington was going to run him out of his home town. At first Lily had fought with him, but each fight ended the same way with Larry beating the crap out of her. After a while she just didn't have it in her anymore.

She turned the page in the photo album, the wedding section over.

Interspersed with pictures of friends and relatives and the occasional pet she'd had was a picture that always made her heart break. Nothing so special, really - just a picture of her and Larry and Rick and his wife Judy, taken on a houseboat at Mt. Shasta. That was the weekend she'd gotten pregnant.

She'd been so scared to tell him, but the news of his impending fatherhood seemed to straighten Larry out. He actually cut down on the beer and made plans with her for the baby's room. The sawmill was running a partial crew again, and Larry was working a few days a week. She'd been dumb enough to think that things were actually getting better.

Of course it didn't last. The pressure of acting like a dutiful husband and father was too much for Larry, and the next time he took it out on her she landed in the hospital. She lost the baby and Larry spent a week in jail.

They both made it back home about the same time. Larry was sentenced to an anger management course and fined $1,500 that they didn't have. Lily suffered a life-long verdict - her insides had been damaged so badly that she couldn't have anymore children.

Now that she was damaged goods, Larry really took his rage out on her.

So much for anger management. Lily gradually realized that if she stayed he would end up killing her, and she made plans to leave. Unfortunately Larry found out before she managed to make it out the door.

Things got hazy after that. Lily remembered fighting back, for the first time in her life, which had enraged Larry even further. She remembered grabbing the softball bat and striking out with it, and she remembered Larry lying still on their living room floor. The next thing she remembered, she was on a bus headed out of Susanville toward Reno with no memory of how she gotten to Susanville in the first place. That had been five years ago.

Lily rubbed her stomach, grieving once again for the child she had lost.

Larry had murdered her child, and in turn she had killed her child's father.

Sooner or later it was bound to catch up with her, and she was so tired of running and hiding, tired of lying. So tired of the whole damn thing.

She closed the album with a snap and set in on her bedside table. There, tucked under her phone, was the cop's card. Lily picked it up and stared hard at it for a long moment, then picked up the phone and dialed the number on the card. It took her two tries before she could make her stiff lips pronounce the detective's name, only to find out that he was off duty for the rest of the night. She hung up the phone without leaving a message.

Maybe tonight wasn't quite the right time after all.

Chapter 6: Legalizing The Gene Pool

A dark blue rental sedan pulled up in front of the St. Thomas Catholic Church. Detective Moorehouse slid out of the driver's seat, opened the back door, and assisted Dana with pulling a somewhat groggy Mulder from the back seat to stand unsteadily on the slick concrete sidewalk. Dana opened her umbrella and held it over both their heads.

Mulder swayed slightly and Dana reached out her hand to steady him.

"Exactly how many pills did you take?" she inquired with concern while steeling another accusing glance at Jake.

"Relax Dr. Scully," he slurred lazily. "I was a good boy - I only took two."

"Two?!! You took two of those things?" she asked again, unable to believe what she thought she heard. "Oh, good grief, Mulder, you idiot," she huffed. "you 've studied pharmacology and know damn well that you can't pop perks like aspirin. What the hell were you thinking?"

Mulder shrugged his shoulders apologetically, bowed his head, and sulked.

"It hurt," he muttered as his only defense.

Dana's expression softened at his admission. "I know, I know," she whispered, gently patting his arm. "Are you sure you're going to be up to this? We could call it off and do it tomorrow," she offered. In her professional opinion, Mulder did not look good. Beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead and he somehow managed to look both pale and flushed all at the same time.

"No way. We're doing this right here... right now," he said, pulling back his shoulders with solid determination. Relinquishing the support of the car on which he'd been so heavily leaning, he straightened himself to his full height in an attempt to foster an appearance of confidence and well-being. It almost worked. "Dana, after all we've been through, I'm not about to let a stupid toothache ruin the happiest day of my life, so you better just get your stuff and get changed because I'm getting married tonight even if I have to crawl down the aisle to do it."

Jake struggled to get Dana's suitcase out of the trunk and Mulder suddenly didn't feel quite as inadequate as he had at the airport. "What the hell did she put in this thing?" Moorehouse wondered out loud as he dropped the case to the ground with a thud.

"If I know Dani Doo, probably Jimmy Hoffa," chuckled a familiar voice that came from over Dana's left shoulder. Startled, she spun around to find herself staring up at the smiling face of her big brother, Bill.

"How? Who? Why?" Dana sputtered in open mouthed surprise as Bill enveloped her in a brotherly bear hug.

"You don't think we'd miss you marrying that klutzy, goofball, trouble-maker, do you? Besides, I came just to make sure 'daddy' over there doesn't get cold feet and chicken out. Although judging by the way he ogles you all the time, I suspect that's highly unlikely," he snickered.

"We?" Dana exclaimed. "Who else is here?"

"Well, let me see..." he purposely extended his pause until Dana whacked him on the arm with impatience. "There's me, Danny, Mom, and oh yeah, Melissa, the wandering gypsy. There's also a few truly unique individuals hanging around the rectory. I'm afraid your other half is going to have to claim that bunch, with any luck before the men in the white coats do.

Always knew Mulder was nuts - now I know why."

Bill backed away from Dana and looked past his sister to Mulder who'd resumed his former position holding up the car. "Jesus, Mulder, you look like shit," Bill observed with a sardonic grin.

Mulder flashed the most engaging smile he could muster under the circumstances. "Why thank you so much, * Dr. * Bill," Mulder replied facetiously. "You're looking quite dashing yourself. Really nice of you to drop by."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world," Bill chuckled lightly as he bent to help Jake with the bag from Hell. "God, sis, you really do have Hoffa in her, don't you?" he groaned. "You ever think about investing in one of those folding luggage cart things? Or at the very least maybe a bag with wheels?"

"No, it hasn't exactly been on my top ten list of thing to do lately," she replied, casually brushing his comment aside.

Bill made a point of staring at her expanding waistline. "Bet I know what has," he retorted with his usual inappropriate sense of humor. All it got him was a well-placed elbow in the ribs and a familiar glare.

As the initial shock of finding her family at her impending wedding began to wear off, the obvious question occurred to her. "Who told you about this and how did everyone get here? I just found out about it myself." She had a feeling she already knew the answer before her brother even opened his mouth.

Mulder had decided to use the distraction Bill created to make good his escape before Dana had a chance to realize what he'd done. Stealthily grabbing his own small bag, he vacated his position by the car. Ducking through the raindrops, he opened the church's large, hand-carved double doors and was just about to escape into religious sanctuary when the voice of his beloved shattered the stillness and landed on his ears like the Anvil Chorus.

"Freeze!!!" she ordered. "Not one more step, Fox Mulder!"

He froze in mid-stride and closed his eyes. Oh boy, you're in for it now. Shit!!! Two more steps... just two more lousy steps and he could've temporarily avoided the confrontation he felt advancing on him from the rear. Slowly, he opened his eyes, turned around, and saw the sheepish grin on Bill's face as Dana marched up the steps toward him under a full head of steam.

Mulder wasn't a tremendously religious man, but he did believe in a supreme being and the validity of the human soul. He wasn't much for praying either, but looking at Dana right at this moment, he thought that perhaps now would be a good time to start. "I'll make a deal with you," he whispered under his breath while tilting his head upward. "You cover my ass on this one and 'starwhores' goes to video heaven -- or accidentally ends up in Frohicke's VCR. Okay, okay --- I'll cancel my subscription to 'Celebrity Skin,'" he added desperately. Please?? He really didn't want to fight with her, tonight of all nights. He'd meant well. As much as he loved this beautiful, willful woman, there were still times that he found himself at a loss when it came to completely understanding her. Of course, men weren't supposed to understand women completely. That was a fundamental law of nature he'd discovered long ago, so he opted for 'some' understanding, unconditional love, and a lot of acceptance.

"Wait just one minute, Sherlock! Am I the only one you *didn't* tell about this?" Dana now stood on the step right before him, eyes all spit and fire, her hair reflecting the flaming crimson of the votive candles lining the walls of the vestibule. It always intrigued him how someone so small could be so damn imposing.

Her shoulders were back, both hands on her hips in exasperation. Mulder knew that she was completely unaware that that particular stance only served to accentuate her rapidly growing abdominal bulge.

Reality struck him like a bolt of lightning, overwhelming him with emotion and love to the point that he thought he just might burst with an uncontrollable joy he'd thought would never be his. This was what he'd waited for his entire life, what he'd wanted and needed for so long. This was life and it was worth every endured second of pain, torture, and sorrow in his life's journey just to be able to experience even this one small, joyous fragment in time.

Mulder's hands trembled even though his voice remained deceptively calm as he spoke. "Dana, I'm sorry. Guess I haven't been able to do much of anything right in the last few days, have I?" He grazed one finger lightly along the side of her cheek to the tip of her chin, lovingly tilting her face upward. "I truly only meant to make you happy," he whispered. "I knew you'd be upset if your family wasn't here for something so important so I arranged to fly them out. I didn't tell you because I thought it'd be a nice surprise." Mulder averted his eyes from her gaze and absently kicked at the base of the step with the toe of his shoe.

God, Dana thought to herself, he'd looked at her with such love and trust that for several seconds she'd actually forgotten to breathe. Yes, she'd been irritated at him for planning her day without her. But he honestly did have her best interests at heart, even if he did royally piss her off on occasion. Then she reconsidered her line of thinking, mentally kicking herself for being so self-centered. This wasn't just her day -- it was his, too. He'd tried to make it as special for her as it obviously was for him and she'd been nothing but cranky and quarrelsome. Why in the world would he want to marry such an ornery person?

Tentatively she reached up and slipped her hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly. In his pleading, hopeful eyes she found her answer and her soul soared with joy. Look at him, her heart instructed. He loves you!

Unconditionally -- warts, bad temper, and all -- just as you love him, even with all his little infuriating quirks.

"Come on Spooky, let's get hitched." Stretching on tiptoes, she met him halfway in a warm embrace and a lingering kiss.

"Ah, ain't that cute," Jake grumbled as the couple's embrace slowly ended.

Neither one had heard him enter the church behind them. "I think I'm gonna be sick. Can you two break the strangle-hold and get a move on? I'm standin' here holding what must be half of D.C. in my hands and you two decide to get maudlin."

"Hitched?" Mulder muttered.

"You quote 'My Fair Lady;' I quote 'Annie Get Your Gun."

"Figures," he grimaced, then jumped as a small well-placed hand goosed him from behind. "Hey!! Hands off the goods until after the ceremony. I'm not that kinda guy," he joked with mocked indignation.

"Since when?" Dana teased.

"Scully, you're a wanton woman," he shot back.

"So what does that make you?" she retaliated.

"Exceedingly happy??" His voice cracked perceptibly as one eyebrow rose upward drawing a corner of his mouth up with it.

Any further smart remarks were hastily quashed by the arrival of Father Thomas Collins, pastor of St. Thomas. The simple black pants and shirt, complete with small white collar, took Dana back to her Catholic school days. She was getting married, in a church, by a priest. Holy cow, this is really going to happen, she thought. But didn't they have to take classes or something first in order to be married in the church? Granted, she hadn't actually been a practicing Catholic for years, but she did remember some rules about getting married, things that had to be done, other than the trip they'd already taken to the Marriage Bureau downtown for the license.

"Fox!" Father Collins said, slapping Mulder on the back. "Good to see you again. How's the jump shot coming along?" Dana was glad that Father Collins hadn't called Mulder 'my son,' like the priests of her childhood days always seemed to do. From the looks of things, Mulder was at least five or six years older than the good Father, and hearing Mulder called 'my son' from someone younger would have definitely sent her over the edge.

"Getting better, although I don't get much time to practice," Mulder replied. Both men turned toward Dana. "Tom, I'd like you to meet the love of my life, Dana Scully. " Dana reached out her hand to shake the priest's, but he surprised her by giving her a big hug instead.

"Dana Scully, I'm so very glad to meet you," the priest said. "I'm sure you are the one responsible for the joy I see in my friend, and I thank you for that. No one deserves it more than he does."

Dana blinked back the tears that had sprung to her eyes at the priest's words. She made a note to ask Mulder later just where he had met Father Collins. Obviously their friendship ran pretty deep.

"I appreciate you making the time to do this for us," Mulder said.

"Nonsense," Father Collins replied. "It was the very least I could do. We don't get much call for weddings this time of night, so pulling this together on short notice was no problem at all. And I have to admit, between your two families, pretty much everything has already been taken care of. All we have to do now is make sure you both show up on time. And now that you're finally here, we can get started."

Father Collins surveyed the small party in crammed inside the vestibule.

Spotting Jake and the large suitcase he was carrying, he made the obvious deduction. "The bride's, no doubt," he said. "If you'll be good enough to go through that door," he said, pointing at a door that led around the side of the church, "You'll find the rest of the bridal party. Dana, we have a room back there where you can change and get yourself ready. Fox, since you don't have a long white gown to contend with, we're going to make you deal with the stairs. There's space for you to change in the basement, then you can come back upstairs over by the altar. That way you won't have to walk down the aisle. We'll leave that honor to your beautiful bride."

Dana's head was reeling, listening to the priest choreograph their last-minute wedding preparations. Either he'd had a lot of experience at this, or he'd been a drill sergeant in his last career. But the questions she'd had earlier still nagged at her.

"Wait," she began. "Don't we have some paperwork to fill out, or an interview to go through, or something?"

Father Collins grinned at her. "It's all been taken care of, Dana. I can see that you and Fox love each other. You haven't been married before, have you?" She shook her head no. "Well, neither has Fox. And as for raising the children Catholic, well... that's something you both need some time to decide and I'm not going to push you on that. You are both decent people and you'll make the decision you feel is right for your children. I've never seen Fox this happy, and I am honored to marry the two of you." He shrugged. "And as for that paperwork, you can sign it later when I fill out the license. Does that answer your questions?"

"Yes," she replied, letting out a huge sigh. "Thank you."

Ok, now that her religious questions had been taken care of, one procedural question began to nag at the back of Dana's mind. Mulder's bag was too small. It was just too darn small to contain anything except the usual collection of male toiletries and paraphernalia. "Mulder, where's your tux? There's no way it would ever fit in that bag. And you already know how I feel about what you have on," she said wrinkling her nose.

He stopped at the top of the basement stairs and smiled. "I didn't have time to go rent a tux, so I gave my measurements to Aunt Carol. She said not to worry and that she'd handle everything."

Dana looked askance. "And you let her?!" Now she understood her brother's snarkey remark about 'unusual people and men in white coats.' Bill had just had his first close encounter of the third kind with the Macloed side of Mulder's quirky family.

"I didn't have much of a choice in the matter," Mulder explained. "Alex and Catie couldn't do it. They were too busy trying to find a ringmaster for the members of the three-ring circus they refer to as children, not to mention the mutt. Aunt Carol was the only one available. Don't worry. I gave her all my sizes. All she had to do was order it and pick it up, so there's no way she could screw it up... is there?" he asked as a margin of doubt crept into his voice.

"I didn't have much of a choice in the matter," Mulder explained. "Alex and Catie couldn't do it. They were too busy trying to find a ringmaster for the members of the three-ring circus they refer to as children, not to mention the mutt. Aunt Carol was the only one available. Don't worry. I gave her all my sizes. All she had to do was order it and pick it up, so there's no way she could screw it up... is there?" he asked as a margin of doubt crept into his voice.

The look Dana lobbed his way did not inspire him with confidence.

Coupled with the onslaught of family members heading toward them both from the basement (his family) and the side of the church (her family), he just cringed. Maybe inviting their respective families had not been such a great idea after all. Too late now.

Margaret Scully spied her daughter and soon to be son-in-law standing face to face at the top of the basement stairs, engaged in what appeared to be some sort of confrontation. Now what, she thought to herself with dismay.

These were two of the most stubborn, pigheaded, and obstinate individuals she would ever have the pleasure of knowing. Getting them down the aisle without any mishaps was going to be one of the major accomplishments in her life, no doubt one that she would not soon forget.

Drawing closer, she noted the fact that Fox didn't look just right. He had regained some of the paleness she'd remembered when he'd been recovering and looked like someone had punched him in the jaw. What had he gotten himself into this time? Now, not only did she have to worry about her little girl, she had occupy her worry circuits with him too. No, that wasn't quite true. Fox would take care of her baby girl as well as her grand baby when it arrived. She saw that fact in his face every time he looked at Dana. Her daughter was a lucky young woman to have a man who loved her as much as Fox did, so she'd stop worrying and just try to enjoy them. Dana looked beautiful -- radiant, in fact. Fox looked...overwhelmed.

Taking her daughter in her arms, Margaret whispered in a laughing voice, "I'm so happy Fox brought us here. I would not have wanted to miss this.

Love him, baby," she whispered in Dana's ear. "There won't always be smooth sailing, believe me, but the rewards are worth all the stormy weather."

Margaret glanced at Mulder over her daughter's shoulder. Though he was as handsome as ever, there was still a look of pain about his eyes and a tenseness that caused faint lines in his forehead. After being his second shadow for the two weeks it took him to recuperate, she was accustomed to his physical nuances by now and this young man was definitely hurting.

She just knew he'd gone back to work too soon.

Melissa came up from behind her mother and hugged them both. "So he's finally going to make an honest woman of you?" she teased. Before Dana could think of a stinging retort, Melissa kissed her on the cheek. "I'm so happy for you, Dana, I can't tell you. You don't need to be psychic to know that you and Fox belong together." She pulled on Dana's coat sleeve, tugging her down the hall. "Come on, sis, time to turn into a bride."

Margaret watched as her oldest daughter took over, directing Jake and Bill where to put Dana's suitcase and gently shoving Dana in after them.

"Mom!" Melissa called, waiting for Margaret to join in their preparations.

"I'll be there in a minute, dear," she replied with a gentle smile. "You can go ahead and get started, I won't be long."

Margaret turned her attention to Mulder. "Well, I'm not going to welcome you to the family," she said.

Mulder was stunned. "You're not?"

Margaret grinned back at him. It was probably a little cruel to tease him on his wedding day, but she just couldn't resist. "Of course not. You're already family, Fox, you know that." She leaned in to hug him. Wedding days were a day for hugs, after all. "This just makes it official."

Mulder hugged the smaller woman back. She was so much like Scully courage, intelligence, and wit, all in the same small, dear package. "I will love her always," he told his soon to be mother-in-law. "I will cherish her and take care of her, and I will protect her with my own life."

She pulled back to look into his eyes. "The Captain would have liked you, Fox. I wish you could have gotten to know him better. He would have approved."

"Thank you," Mulder managed to get out. Anything further he might have wanted to say seemed stuck in his throat.

Margaret released him, giving him a gentle shove toward the basement stairs. "Time for you to get ready, too," she said. He beamed at her, the broad grin giving his face a healthier look. She'd have to remember to ask Dana what was wrong. She watched Fox head off down the stairs, then followed Melissa down the hallway to where her daughter was transforming herself from FBI agent to beautiful bride.

Mulder suddenly felt warm all over. Everything was going to work out.

Everything would be fine. He found himself looking forward to Margaret's warm smiles and gentle hugs and realized sadly just how much he'd missed those small, supposedly insignificant displays of love and affection. Luckily he didn't have much time to dwell on those thoughts before his Aunt Carol spotted him, dragging Alex and Catie along in her wake.

"Fox, me darlin'," his aunt's voice lilted. "Ye be lookin' a might pale. Later ye be needin' some sunshin' on ye, but fer now we be needin' ta get ye inta yer weddin' garments. Come on, lad get yer arse in here." Mulder took a deep breath as he followed his aunt into the dressing room.

His dressing room turned out to be a small classroom. Child-size desks and chairs cluttered the center, while a portable blackboard stood off to the side. Colorful cardboard pictures depicting the Holy Family, the apostles and various saints were taped to the walls. 'Raising the children Catholic...' Father Thomas' words came back to him. Until this very second he hadn't given much thought to the actual day to day raising of a child, but standing here in the middle of a classroom brought it all home to him. His child...their child. They were going to have to make all the decisions for this small person, everything from which school would be right to what religious beliefs - if any - they should teach their child. This was something he and Dana hadn't even discussed. How could they possibly be ready to be parents?

"Stop yer daydreamin' and get yer butt in gear," Aunt Carol prodded him.

"I'm sure the good father won't be a waitin' all day."

Mulder spotted a large garment bag on the table. He really could have used a shower but the way things were they hadn't even been able to check in at their hotel yet. A shower would have to wait for later. Maybe he could freshen up in a sink - if he could find one down here, that is.

Carol walked up behind her nephew as he reached for the bag. "You'll probably not be likin' what I've chosen for ye ta wear," she remarked.

Mulder didn't like the sound of that comment. What had he said before?

How could she screw it up? He had the sinking feeling that he was about to find out. He turned and gave his eccentric aunt a questioning look then unzipped the garment bag as if it were a body bag instead. What greeted him was not the black color of the tux he expected but the green, yellow, red, and black of the Macloed tartan plaid. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, his mind screamed. He should have known better than to leave this kind of thing in Auntie's hands. Oh goddamn it, Dana's gonna kill you.

Okay, calm down. Just calm down. Mulder took a deep breath, unclenching his jaw with difficulty, and mainly because so much stress made his face hurt. Ok. Here's what I'll do, he thought. I'll just wear what I've got on. So what if it's wrinkled, dirty, and just a little... he raised one arm and sniffed experimentally... yeah, ok, it's smelly.

Almost desperately, Mulder thought of another alternative. Knowing his family, this could be some kind of a joke, right? Just a 'let's get Fox real good' type of pre-wedding prank. Remembering to breathe in slow, calm breaths, Mulder turned toward his aunt, trying very hard to keep his voice on an even keel. "Auntie Carol, where's my tux?" he asked hopefully.

Margaret stood inside the door, watching her daughter freshen her makeup.

The small vanity Dana sat in front of looked like an antique - a rich, dark wood stand with a tall, triple pane mirror. Surprising to find such a thing in a church, but then again, with so many weddings they no doubt had plenty of experience with the feminine need to freshen up before the big event.

Dana's suit jacket had been hung over the back of a chair, and Melissa was busy unpacking part of her sister's suitcase. The men had apparently been banished to allow her daughter some privacy. Now was as good a time as any.

"Dana," Margaret said, walking over to stand behind her daughter. "Fox isn't feeling well. I can tell. What's wrong?"

Dana's smile was reflected in the vanity's mirrors. It took her mother by surprise. "It's nothing exotic this time, Mom," she said shaking her head.

"He's got an old run of the mill, everyday kind of toothache. He's too stubborn to go to the dentist and get it fixed. The idiot would rather suffer and complain about it instead."

"So, he's afraid of dentists," Margaret sighed with understanding. "Your father was the same way."

"Daddy?" She didn't think her father had been afraid of anything.

Margaret nodded. "He just never admitted it. You know how your father was, Dana. Always had to be the sure, steady, strong anchor in our lives. He'd rather put up with the pain than admit that sitting in the dentist's chair was scarier than heading out on a mission. But there are ways to work around that without wounding their pride."

Dana was intrigued. "What happened? How did you get him to go?"

Margaret laughed at a memory that hadn't occurred to her in years. "Your father had this toothache. He suffered for days and made everyone else miserable in the process. So I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances."

"What?"

"I conspired with a few of your father's fellow officers. They took him out, got him drunker than a skunk, and hauled him off to the base dentist. Oh, did he have a fit when he woke up. But by the time the hangover was gone, so was his toothache."

"Mom, you think that would work with Mulder?" Dana asked. "I don't think I can stand seeing him hurt much longer. And short of knocking him out, I can't think of another way to deal with this."

Melissa grinned with anticipation. "Let me take care of this. I'll mention it to Bill and -- who was that detective? Mr. Moorehouse? He's the same one from the cruise ship, right? I'm sure they'll be able to come up with something interesting. After all, no one had time to throw Fox a bachelor party."

Dana wasn't sure she liked the sound of that. Mulder would probably like it even less. But now was not the time to worry about it. Melissa had hung her grandmother's wedding gown on the back of the closet door. Dana fluffed up the skirt, enjoying the feel as yards of soft Irish lace passed through her fingers. She marveled, as she always did, at the hours of tedious work it had taken to hand sew each of the hundreds of beads in place on the bodice. She'd always loved this dress, envied her cousins when they got a chance to wear it at their own weddings. Now it was her turn.

Margaret came up softly behind Dana and placed an arm around her shoulder. "I think it's time to get this dress off the hanger and onto you, Dana."

"You're going to be a beautiful bride," Melissa added.

To her surprise, Dana's hands were shaking as she reached out for the hanger. A thought occurred to her, and she was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of emotion. Oh, Ahab... Dana turned and buried her face in her mother's shoulder.

"Dana?" Margaret asked, reflexively wrapping her arms around her daughter and smoothing her hair.

"Daddy should be here," Dana whispered between her sniffles.

Margaret smiled. Wedding day jitters combined with baby hormones could put PMS to shame. No wonder her normally self-controlled daughter was a mess of emotions.

"He is here, Dana," Melissa said, laying a hand on Dana's shoulder. "Can't you feel it?"

"She's right, Dana," Margaret whispered. "He is here, and I know he's happy for you, and very, very proud of his baby girl."

Dana turned her tear-stained face from her mom to her sister, trying for a grin but not quite succeeding. She could see tears brimming in their eyes as well, and she knew that if she didn't pull herself together soon, they'd all dissolve in a puddle on the floor. "This is ridiculous," Dana said, swiping at her tears with an impatient hand. She pulled out of her mother's grasp and reached for the dress again, this time pleased to see that her hand was steady. "If I don't get a move on, Mulder's going to be getting married all by himself."

Aunt Carol didn't seem to get the joke. "You're not be tellin' me thot ye wish to be wed in thot sissy Anglish garb, now do ye?" she asked, disappointment and disapproval etched in her frown.

"Auntie Carol," Mulder said as calmly as he could under the circumstances.

"This is not Scotland. Men wear a tux to their weddings, not.... skirts," he mumbled. He pointed to the offending clothing on the table. "I can't wear that!"

"First bein' Fox Ian Mulder, thot be not a 'skirt'. Thot be a kilt and nare a coward ere sported its wearin'." Auntie Carol pulled herself up to her full height, and although she barely reached Mulder's shoulder, she was still an imposing presence. Mulder sighed. He hadn't missed the way she'd purposefully omitted his given middle name of William. He would now and forever be known to Auntie Carol as Fox Ian.

"Yer grandfather wore the kilt with the pride of his Highland heritage an so will ye," she continued, "T'was worn for centuries by men with insight, honor, and courage. I now be offerin' it to ye, for ye alone are in possession of the qualities givin' ye ta right to wear it. Will it be hurtin' yer fashion sense too much to fulfill an ol' woman's wish?"

Oh, no... not the guilt card. "But Auntie -- it's my wedding," he pleaded.

He looked into her sad, moisture-filled eyes, so much like his mother's, and knew he was losing the battle. Shit. Double Shit. She'd always been able to do this to him, and she damn well knew it, too.

Auntie Carol and Uncle Douglas were two of the very few people who'd ever been consistently kind to him over the years. The Summers he'd spent with them had been the happiest of his young life. Auntie had nursed him through illness, comforted him when the nightmare's chilled him with fear, and never begrudged him a hug when she thought he needed one. Once she'd even protected him from his father's wrath... well, postponed it anyway. Unlike her sister, Carol was a tough as they came. She was stubborn, opinionated, utterly fearless, and used to getting her way. But she was also warm hearted and caring.

Unfortunately, he remembered the scene with his father as if were yesterday. His dad had returned from one of his many highly classified meetings on the hill and there was no question that he was angry and troubled when he arrived at the farm. With a bottle of fifty year old scotch in one hand and a shot glass in the other, Bill Mulder had disappeared into Uncle Doug's study, only to emerge three hours later for what appeared to be the sole purpose of smacking his unsuspecting son halfway across the room for dropping his bag of sunflower seeds on the carpet.

Mulder remembered impacting with a wall and sliding to the floor stunned as the knot on his face below his left eye began to swell. Experience had taught him that trying to escape would only make things worse, so he waited and braced himself for his punishment for being such a klutz. The expected blow never came, however, for standing between his father and himself was his raven-haired aunt, delivering admonishments to his father in a Scottish brogue so thick with rage that he couldn't understand a single word she'd said. For the first time in his short life, Fox Mulder had seen his father back down and turn away. Auntie Carol had refused to call him Fox William from that day forward, christening him Fox Ian after her own grandfather.

Oh, what the hell....Auntie Carol may be seven kinds of a loon, but she meant the world to him.

She'd protected him when no one else thought he was worth the effort. No one had done that before -- not even his own mother. If wearing this damn thing is what she wanted, so be it. He would, however, feel obligated as per Celtic custom to clobber the first man who felt it necessary to make derogatory comments on his wedding attire.

A faint smile found its way to Mulder's lips as he crossed the room and held his aunt in an uncustomary embrace. "Anything for you Auntie Carol," he whispered into her ear. "Anything for you."

Carol reached up and brought his head down, placing a loving kiss on the unswollen side of his cheek. "Fox Ian, ye be a good mon. Though ye be known by men as a Mulder," she said patting his chest gently, "herein lies the heart and soul of a Macloed through and through and none shall be knowin' thot more than I. Come on lad," Carol said as she helped Mulder out of his suit jacket. "Ye may be needin' a wee bit of assistance dressin' up seein' thot yer not accustom ta wearin' the cloth." Carol laughed out loud at the vivid blush staining her nephew's cheeks. 'It's not like I never seen ye before."

Mulder closed his eyes, feeling the heat rush to his face. This was going to be really embarrassing. His eyes flew open and he grabbed his aunt's wrist when she started to unbuckle his belt. "That's ok. I can take care of this part myself," he assured her.

Maybe he and Dana should have just eloped.

Margaret and Melissa caught the train of the gown as Dana pulled it gently upward, clutching the bodice to her chest. Layer upon layer of hand-tatted Irish lace was carefully shaken and fluffed into place as Dana stepped into the faded ivory of an age old family tradition. She slid her arms into the sleeves, feeling the lace against her skin. Pulling the gown up over her shoulders, she felt the weight of yards of material and lace. No wonder it took two grown men to carry her suitcase.

This is totally insane, she thought. How did she ever let him talk her into this? He'd wanted her to wear her grandmother's gown even though it was a royal pain to get it here and an even bigger pain to get into. His only explanation was that he didn't want her to feel jilted out of the big wedding she could have had at home. Didn't he know by now that she couldn't possibly feel 'jilted' as long as they had each other? The place or the circumstances really weren't that important to her as was the end result.

But he'd insisted, knowing deep down that she'd dreamed of wearing this dress someday, of being married in a church with her friends and family all around her. And as usual, Mulder managed to cram into two hours, what would normally take months of painstaking planning to accomplish.

Melissa stared at her sister misty-eyed. "I would have never believed that you'd be the first one of the two of us to wear this dress," she said with admiration and just a touch of envy. "And I'm supposed to know these things."

"Don't feel bad, Melissa, no one is as surprised as I am. You could've never anticipated the likes of Fox Mulder -- none of us could," Dana replied, her voice husky.

Margaret chuckled softly as she fastened what seemed to be the hundredth tiny pearl button at the nape of her daughter's slender neck. If someone had asked her years ago who would be the perfect man for her baby girl, she never would have chosen someone like Mulder. But, as so often happens in real life, perfect choices are made without anyone even being aware of them. She wondered if Walter knew this would happen when he'd fought to keep these two teamed up. She'd have to remember to ask him sometime.

It's a good thing this dress has a lot of lace, Dana thought, candidly looking at her reflection in the full-length wardrobe mirror that stood in the corner of the room. All those layers certainly cover a multitude of indiscretions.

She smiled as the thought struck her that maybe it had been designed that way on purpose.

As her mom finished with the last of the buttons, Dana continued to watch herself in the mirror, reflecting on how her life had changed in three short years and about the man who'd been the driving influence in those changes.

She didn't look any different - well, not much different - on the outside, but inside? Inside she'd changed by leaps and bounds, and it was all due to Fox Mulder. He'd dared her to look outside her small and tidy world and question the possibilities of a vast and often unpredictable universe whose order did not always follow the rules she'd accepted as gospel. Mulder had added a whole new dimension to the meaning of truth, and her life would never be the same.

Mulder stood tall and regal in the middle of the room, the nine yards of hand-woven, pleated wool draped meticulously over his waist and narrow hips. Carol finished buttoning down the cross-over pleated lapel of his crisp, white, linen shirt, then continued with the delicately engraved silver buttons of the fitted black doublet. The 'plaid' draped over his left shoulder and was clasped there with a large silver medallion brooch bearing the family crest and motto. Hanging snugly on the front of the kilt was the traditional sporran (pouch). Mulder withstood her ministrations stoically and nearly sighed with relief as his aunt stepped backward to take another look at her handiwork.

"Now for the final touches." She smiled, eyes gleaming with pride. On the table behind her were two very old cases. She opened the smaller one and motioned Mulder toward the table. Following her gaze, he stared with rapt fascination and awe at the jewel encrusted dirk and skiunhn dhu that rested within.

Mulder removed the weapons with great care, marveling at their craftsmanship and beauty. He tucked the dirk beneath the material at his waist and placed the skiunhn dhu in the leather sheath under the stocking on his right calf. Well, that felt better anyway. Being armed added a little more credibility to this get-up, making him feel a little less ridiculous and naked -- literally, he thought, stealing a glance at his neatly folded boxers keeping his suit company on a chair by the door. Later he'd give Dana a first hand opportunity to investigate what a Scotsman actually did -- or didn't -- wear under the infamous kilt. He smiled. Continuing thoughts of Dana filled his imagination and began to have a familiar physical effect on a certain part of his anatomy, a part that was involuntarily rising in proportion to the increasing heat he felt creeping up to his face.

Oh, God, not now. Especially not in front of Auntie Carol. Mulder get a grip. Geez, what was his problem? He'd never had difficulty controlling his responses before -- emotional or physical. Yet over the last few days, he'd been having one hell of a time keeping a handle on both. He must be under more stress than he thought.

Carol Macloed Mulder noticed the unexpected crimson flush that bloomed like a rose on her nephew's face and could not help but heave a jolly laugh.

Poor lad be hotter than a fire cracker, she mused. This bonnie Irish lass must be somethin' else indeed to get her normally unflappable nephew this flustered just thinkin' bout her and she hadn't been round this long without knowin' what it t'was he'd been thinkin'. "Thinkin' bout' ta weddin' night, are ye lad?" she asked him outright.

Was it that obvious? Mulder hung his head and stole a downward glance at himself only to discover with relief no visible display of what he was feeling.

"Relax dearie," she said calmly with an undertone of mirth. "God knows, mon, ye be exceedingly well-blessed but not even ye canna raise ta weight of nine yard of loose pleated wool and a sporran. Tisn't tight fittin' an ye coulda have a hard on ta size of ta Lincoln Memorial till hell freezes an' no one'd be ta wiser," she snickered. "There be more than one reason Scots were kilts ye know."

Jesus, he'd forgotten just how peculiarly blunt his aunt could be. "Oh sure, that'll be fine unless I start to walk funny," he muttered.

Carol grabbed his hand and pulled him back to the long unopened case still setting on the table. "Jus tell em' the brogues (shoes) be hurtin' yer feet.

Thot's what yer grandfather'd be tellin' anyone who'd be askin. It'd become a runnin' joke in ta family. It seemed a might coincidental thot evra time grandfather Macleod's feet be hurtin' im', he'd be findin' it necessary to gather up his wife an go ta bed. It later occurred to those of the clan who were mathematically inclined, that the rate of births in ta Macleod family were directly proportional to the severity of grandfather's sore feet."

Mulder's face cracked in a wide, unencumbered grin as Carol continued to speak, changing the subject with barely a beat. "This be for ye, Fox Ian," she explained, pointing to the larger case on the table. "Thot which lies in this case has graced the wall of the castle at Dunnevegan for more than seven centuries and Dame Alyse sent it, hopin' thot you'd fulfill tradition an' carry it to yer weddin'."

God, what was she going to saddle him with now? He already felt as plumed as a peacock. Mulder couldn't tell his aunt, but the wool was making his butt itch. She'd probably take his aversion to the fabric as some sort of blasphemy, and he'd neglected to mention the fact that he was allergic -- must be those damn deficient 'Mulder' genes. His aunt had an annoying habit of blaming every unsavory characteristic in the family on Mulder DNA.

Following his aunt's beckoning hand, Mulder edged his way back to the table and reverently lifted the ancient musty smelling lid of the partially deteriorated leather case. His breath and voice caught in his throat as his hands hovered over the four feet of gleaming metal beneath them.

"Go ahead dearie," she urged him with a smile. "I've waited long ta see it in yer hands."

He barely found his voice. "But I'm a Mulder," he rasped. "Alex is a 'true' Macleod and the rightful head of the clan upon grandfather's death. This legacy belongs to him, not me," Mulder said, temporarily stunned by the honor that was offered to him.

"Aye, tis true, Fox Ian. A Macloed surname ye have not, but a name does not a man make. Alex, though he be a fine and honorable mon, hath not the temperament nor ta inclination to bear this particular burden of responsibility. Even his children learned of the 'Battle of Skye' from you, not him. Perhaps they might naer have heard it a'tall had ye not been there to tell them."

"But the story was told to us long ago, Auntie. Alex probably just forgot," he said, defending his cousin.

His aunt lifted one hand and raised her eyes to his, boring them into his soul. "But ye dinna forget, Fox. Alex's strength is durable and steadfast, akin to a smoldering cinder. Mediocrity will let the legacy die. He is content. Now, there be nothin' wrong with contentment, but those who be content are not those who inspire. Ye, on t'other hand... wid ye ta fire burns hot with ta intensity of a blue fame with the power to inspire and the need to challenge, to discover, and to make right thot which is lackin'.

Conscience and honor will always keep ye bound to yer belief in truth."

"I didn't forget the stories, Auntie, because I can't forget. It's just the way I am, you know that."

"Aye, thot I do," she answered with conviction. "A people's heritage will survive only as long as its memories remain in the minds of those who carry on. Use yer gift, lad. As long as ye be livin' the memories of who and what we are remain alive as well. Dinna let our history die -- pass the stories to yer own children so that one day when I'll no longer be walkin this earth, somewhere, someone will remember a cantankerous, looney old woman named Carol Macleod Mulder." With shining eyes, she gestured toward the sword. "Take it, lad. It's yer heritage and yer right."

Slowly Mulder grasped the hilt of the double-edged blue-bladed broadsword and hefted its heavy mass with great care from its manmade prison. He'd done some fencing at Oxford. It was almost a requirement.

Hell, he'd actually gotten pretty good at it, too, but nothing -- nothing he'd ever used in his matches could even come close to the balanced, weighted feel of the weapon he now held in his hands. An experimental move through the air brought to him a sense of exhilaration and power, and he could almost feel the centuries of souls who'd lived and died by the swing of its irretrievable justice. Mulder held the blade up before his face and studied it in wonder just as Alex opened the door and sprinted into the room. The moment passed, and Mulder nodded at his aunt in understanding, sliding the sword into the lanyard behind his left shoulder.

"Come on, cuz," Alex barked. "Let's get the show on the road. It's not like we have all night and this damn kilt is beginning to make me itch. Hey, at least you get to carry a sword. I get stuck having to play this damn bagpipe, which means I'll probably be winded for the rest of the night."

Mulder gave his cousin a look of commiseration. At least he wasn't the only one who'd been bullied into wearing this stuff. Misery loves company, he chuckled to himself. Pausing briefly as he stepped through the doorway, Mulder looked back at his smiling aunt. "Auntie Carol," he said, brushing his hand by the collection of weapons he was carrying. "Is it really necessary to be carrying all these blades? I'm entering into a marriage, not a war."

"Sometimes they be one in the same, Fox Ian," she replied while stepping up to him and placing the beret on his head. "The only difference bein' thot in war, ye must always win and in marriage... A mutually satisfyin' treaty is preferable, compromise inevitable, and total surrender by both sides desirable."

Bill Scully had been sent to the basement to check on Mulder's progress.

He peeked in the door of Mulder's dressing room just in time to see Mulder's eccentric aunt coerce him into carrying the biggest damn antique sword he'd ever seen in his life. At first he assumed it was just another part of the traditional ceremonial garb the loony tune lady had obviously forced on him -- an elaborate prop. However, when he opened his mouth to razz Mulder a little by telling him "He had cute legs and should wear a skirt more often," the few experimental moves Mulder put the weapon through quite effectively convinced him that perhaps harassing a man wielding a lethal-looking, double-edged broadsword with a four foot blade was not one of his brightest ideas. The damn thing was frighteningly genuine, so he allowed the comment he was harboring to sink to the back of his mind like stones dropped in a pond. Bill then distinctly heard Mulder mention something about war and marriage as he and his fashion-cloned cousin approached him.

Catching the look of restrained amusement in Bill's eyes, Mulder simply snorted once in acquiescence. "Not one word," he snarled.

Bill snickered, unrestrained glee dancing in his eyes.

The reluctant Scot raised his index finger before Bill's face. "Not one goddamn fucking word. Got that, Scully??" With that, he strode out the door and down the hallway with the determined gate of a man primed and ready to do battle. Alex followed behind, a little less self-assured.

Carol followed her nephew through the doorway, watching his retreating form with undisguised admiration. Placing her hands firmly on her hips, her voice echoed the pride Bill saw in her eyes and carriage. "Ahc," she muttered slowly nodding her head. "He's a fine figure, is he not?

Actually that observation hadn't crossed Bill's mind. What had piqued his curiosity, though, was how in the hell Mulder managed to maneuver without falling over on his ass. That damn sword he had strapped to his back had to weigh thirty, maybe forty pounds easy. When this was all over, he'd make it a point to give Mulder the name of a good chiropractor.

"Hung like a fookin' Clydesdale, he is," Carol continued, much to Bill's chagrin. "Macleods may be a bit skittish in ta startin' gate, but they've always had ta stayin' power to make it down ta back stretch, give a helluva ride, an' get ta job done to ta satisfaction all concerned." Carol grabbed a handful of Bill's cheek. "An by ta look o' tings, thot bonnie sister of yairn's been enjoyin' one of ta Macloed's biggest assets first 'and. She be a fine lass, laddie. I could'na done better if I'd matched them meself. Ye best be tellin' yer mother ta be expectin' a house full o' strong and strappin' wee Mulders takin' up her time in ta future, for Macleods tend ta be an uncommonly fertile bunch with a libido of correspondin' intensity."

Bill shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I'll certainly make it a point to pass that bit of information along to her," he replied, slightly embarrassed by the woman's outspoken manner and total disregard for propriety. The only other person who could make him blush like that was his Irish grandmother who said she was too old to care about what anybody thought of her and would say whatever she damn well pleased. This woman clearly had the same attitude only at a much younger age. Good lord, Bill considered with alarm as he mentally pictured a meeting between Mulder's aunt and Grandma Macleod. This is going to be one family picnic he was definitely not going to miss. If the Macloeds that were here today were representative of the rest of the clan, he had a sneaking suspicion that the Scullys were about to embark on a walk on the wild side. The family picnic would never be the same again.

Dana tried to stop fidgeting as Melissa put the finishing touches on the soft curls framing her face. Missy had insisted on doing something special with her hair, even though Dana thought her everyday business style was just fine.

"Will you please hold still?" Melissa muttered. Honestly, sometimes Dana could be more difficult than her niece. "How would you like to embark on your wedding night with third degree burns?" she asked, waving the curling iron through the air for added emphasis.

"No, I can honestly say that I wouldn't like that very much at all," Dana replied. "Aren't you done yet?"

"I would be if you'd quit squirming," Melissa scolded. A fluff here, a shot of hair spray there, and she was done. "There! I think that does it," she sighed with satisfaction. "Try not to mess it up -- at least not until later tonight." She ducked as a well-aimed hairbrush flew over her head and bounced off of brother Bill's chest.

Why was it that he always seemed to have the unfortunate luck to show up when these two were in the middle of a disagreement that required the launching of various potentially hazardous projectiles? "Gee, thanks, sis," Bill grimaced, gingerly rubbing the sore spot over his ribs. "If you're done trying out for the Red Sox, I think they're just about ready for our grand entrance."

Now that he wasn't ducking flying objects, he took a second to look at his younger sister. She looked nothing like her usual, efficient, business-like self, and definitely nothing like the tomboy he'd grown up with. Dressed in grandma's wedding gown, Dana was gorgeous. "You're beautiful, sis," he said. "Mulder's a lucky man, and he better always remember it."

"Or you'll be there to remind him?" she asked.

"I think you can handle that part yourself, sis. But I'll always be there in case you need backup."

Dana looked up at Bill, so much like her father but still very much his own man. "Thank you," she said.

"Oh, by the way," he drawled with a mischievous grin. "Boy, has Mulder got a surprise for you." Bill chuckled as he got a mental image of the look on sister's face when she got a good look at what the groom was wearing.

He could hardly wait.

"What surprise?" Dana asked.

Bill just gave her that smug older brother look of 'I've got a secret and you don't' that he knew always infuriated her. "You'll find out soon enough," he was all he said.

Dana reached over to charlie horse him when she caught sight of the wink of one eye. He was teasing her again like he used to do when they were kids. Her nerves settled and she relaxed her grip on his arm. Sighing heavily, she muttered under her breath," that is what I'm afraid of."

Margaret got up to leave the dressing room. "I'm going to sit and wait just like everyone else now," she said, leaning in to place a kiss on her daughter's cheek. Margaret smiled. "It's your show, baby." Her mother's eyes glistened with tears but unlike so many times this past year, these were tears of joy -- not sorrow.

Making her way down the aisle, Margaret looked around the church. There really were a quite a few people here, considering the hurried nature of the wedding arrangements. And this was certainly a beautiful church. Rows and rows of wooden pews lined both sides of the aisle. Her daughter was going to have a rather long walk up this aisle, she thought Arched stained glass windows on both sides of the church depicted various scenes from the Bible. During the day they would have covered the congregation with lovely colors, but at this time of the evening they were dull with the lack of sunlight. However, the candles covering the altar, and the votive lights on each side made a lovely glow of their own.

Margaret took a seat in the second row of pews next to Walter Skinner.

The families had pretty much divided up the sides of the church, sitting in the traditional 'friends of the bride/friends of the groom' arrangement.

However, she noticed Walter had chosen to sit on the bride's side, even though he had known Fox longer. With a small smile, she wondered if that had anything to do with her.

Probably not, her practical side replied. After all, Walter had told her of Fox's invitation, confiding in her that he suspected the young man only invited him because he felt obligated and didn't believe his boss would show up. Margaret had tried to assure him that in spite of his grumblings to the contrary, Fox Mulder had a deep-seated admiration and respect for his boss, as well as a certain amount of genuine affection which, of course, Fox would adamantly deny if asked. Men could be so silly sometimes, even her very sensitive and perceptive soon to be son-in-law.

Walter Skinner smiled as Margaret sat down next to him. Before taking his seat, he had used the time to talk to her, as well as Scully's brothers and sister. To his surprise, he'd also gotten a warm reception from Jake 'Feds are assholes' Moorehouse, who was in charge of the investigation he'd sent his two agents on in the first place. Why this man was at Mulder's wedding was a puzzlement -- that is until he'd had a chance to talk to him.

Moorehouse didn't appear to be as obstinate as he'd been told, and it turned out that the man actually liked his two agents. In fact, Jake had thanked him for sending them instead of those 'Fibbie namby-pamby pretty boys' he'd come to despise.

Skinner smiled to himself. Mulder sure had a way of garnering friends in the most unusual circumstances and places. He also began to feel slightly guilty about the coup de etat that he'd agreed to participate in with Mulder's 'loved ones' after the ceremony. Personally, he could understand Fox's reluctance to visit the dentist's office. Hell, he was a little leery of dentists himself and delivering Mulder into the clutches of one made him feel a lot like a Benedict Arnold.

Leaning over, Walter's lips brushed by Margaret's ear. "Are you sure about the Mulder dental plan?" he asked in an amused tone.

Margaret leaned in closer and replied with her own humor tinged whisper.

"Dana thinks he'll be down for the count with a major infection if she doesn't get a handle on this tooth thing now. She does not want him sick again, so do whatever you have to remedy the situation."

Skinner adopted a thoughtful expression as he considered the various possible options that were open to him. He wasn't certain that Margaret Scully fully realized the potential ramifications of what she'd just said. He was just trying to decide on an appropriate course of action regarding Mulder's uncooperative stance in the matter when the sanctuary suddenly filled with the sound of bagpipes.

The sound echoed off the rafters of the high, peaked ceiling, bounced off the walls and windows. Shifting in their seats, representatives of both families craned their necks looking for the source of the music. The mystery was solved as the door to the right of the altar opened and the groom and his cousin walked purposefully toward the altar followed by Father Collins.

Catie Macleod smiled proudly at her husband as he took his place on one side of the altar. Alex hadn't played the pipes in a while but that hadn't seemed to dampen his spirit or dull his talent any. To her ears, the sound of the pipes was magical. She gazed intently at the young man walking by her husband's side, gawking in spite of herself. She'd always felt the kilt looked a little out of place on Alex -- whenever he'd had the occasion to wear it, but on Fox -- on Fox, the garment nearly screamed tradition, family, dignity, and respect. He wore it well, like an old, familiar friend.

Ever since their last tumultuous Halloween fiasco, Catie Macleod had invested a great deal of time, effort, and righteous anxiety into Fox's relationship with his extraordinary partner. She, for one, found it extremely gratifying to finally see all her hard work pay off. Fox Mulder deserved happiness, she thought wistfully. So did Dana.

Two men now stood quietly before the priest, one nervous to the point of nausea -- the other, silently supportive. At a nod from Father Collins, Alex stepped back and to one side, then began to softly play the pipes once more.

Dana stood quite still as the music drifted through the open door. She looked down at the bouquet held tightly in her hands, her stomach tied in knots. It was time. All she had to do was walk down the aisle, but she found that her feet wouldn't move.

"That's our cue. This is it, sis," Melissa said, her husky voice echoing Dana's own thoughts.

Dana shook involuntarily as a wave of panic and doubt washed over her.

"Oh, Missy," she cried. "Am I doing the right thing? Is this what I truly want? What about my work, my career? This... marriage... this is forever."

Bill leaned back up against the wall, sighed, and waited. He'd heard this same soliloquy not more than a year ago when he'd given his cousin Amanda away at her wedding. The priest at Amanda's wedding had told him then that this kind of 'cold feet' panic attack was common and usually passed if the bride was given a few moments to collect herself. Thank God Melissa was here to deal with it.

Melissa reached over and squeezed her sister's hand. "Dana... take a deep breath, ask yourself the important questions... and think. What did it feel like when you thought you'd might lose him forever? Never to touch him, hear his laugh... see that stupid grin, or that obscene puppy-face. How would it be with no Mulder in your life? If you could never, ever be with him again. I guess it all boils down to one question above all else -- above career or what is correct or right. Dana -- do you love him?"

Dana looked at her sister with understanding and literally glowed. "With all my heart."

"Then what's the problem?" Melissa asked.

"Problem? What problem?" Dana replied with a smile that easily outshone the candlelight in the room.

"Well, I'm glad that's over," Bill grumbled. "Can we get this over with?

This tie is driving me nuts."

"Anything for brother Bill," Melissa said, taking her place in front of Dana.

Her own bouquet clasped tightly under the bodice of her maid-of-honor's dress, Melissa took a deep breath, soaking in the positive feelings she picked up from her sister, the people sitting in the church, and most especially the young man at the altar eagerly awaiting his bride-to-be.

Timing her steps to the soft sound of the bagpipes, she started off down the aisle.

"We're next," Bill said, linking his arm with Dana's. She gazed up at her big brother, who appeared slightly out of focus thanks to her veil. "You sure turned out beautiful, sis," he noted. It was probably the netting in front of her face, Dana thought. Those couldn't really be tears in her brother's eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Dana walked out into the aisle with her brother by her side. The exotic sound of the pipes seemed to float and drift in the air surrounding her. The majestically ethereal tones rose and fell in a haunting melody that she found strangely mystical yet vaguely familiar. She was used to organ music in church, but somehow the pipes just sounded right, not at all out of place.

Lifting her eyes toward the altar, she saw him. Tall and regal, he waited for her... in a traditional kilt no less. She smiled through the veil. She should be shocked, but for some reason she wasn't. The kilt was his Aunt Carol's doing, no doubt. She should have expected that from a woman so proud of her heritage that she'd stubbornly use her nephew's Christian name Fox Ian over his given one, Fox William. This seemed so surreal, like a fairytale or a page out of her college history text. Visions of Camelot played in her imagination, knights in shining armor and ladies in long, flowing, diaphanous gowns.

She'd never seen him look so incredibly handsome -- and perhaps, just a little barbaric. Her original vision of Camelot transformed into a scene straight out of "Braveheart," with Mulder in the title role. What a turn-on, a little voice whispered in the back of her mind, and her heart skipped a beat.

Mulder froze as he watched his bride glide down the aisle toward him.

God, she was exquisitely beautiful. How could she have possibly wanted him, Spooky Mulder, butt of just about every standard Bureau joke in existence? He was selfish. He knew it. He should have let her go, maybe have a normal life, but he was weak. He loved her so. He could die for her, but he'd accepted the truth long ago that he couldn't live without her.

Could it possibly be that she was selfish, too? He hoped so. Swallowing hard, he suddenly felt light-head and weak-kneed. Was this complete and total euphoria or was he getting sick? At the moment he didn't care.

Bill and Dana stopped next to him. Father Collins said something, Bill replied, and then next thing Mulder knew Bill had placed Dana's hand in his. She stood beside him and the look in her eyes revealed to him all the truth that he ever really needed to know.

Mulder pulled the sword from its lanyard and pressed the point to the floor as he knelt on one knee before the altar to accept an age old blessing from Father Collins. Both hands clasped the hilt as his forehead rested on the flat side of the blade. He then stood and handed the weapon to the priest in a symbolic gesture of surrender.

Dana knelt beside him in reverence and accepted the offering of wine as the cup passed from her lips to his. The ceremony continued and both stood for the pledging of vows which were given and received.

Mulder discovered himself becoming tense with anticipation and somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice nagged at his nerves that the ceremony was proceeding way too smoothly. No major event in his life had ever been realized before without an accompanying crisis. He felt like he was poised on the brink of disaster and the anxiety was having a deleterious effect on his breathing. The pain in his mouth and the residual remains of the drugs in his system weren't helping matters either. When's the other shoe going to drop? he asked himself. Please God, if anything is going to his the fan, do it now and get it over with so I can enjoy the rest of this.

Alex heard the priest's voice from far away. "And the rings, please..."

faintly registered in his brain. Why was he wound so tight? He wasn't getting married. Feeling an elbow gently nudge him in the side, he snapped to and fumbled nervously through his sporan in search of the ring. Where in the hell was it? He knew it was in here...had to be. He'd put it there himself not twenty minutes before. Alex's fingers groped thought the small bag once more before locating the ring from the purse with a triumphant expression on his face -- that immediately changed to embarrassed chagrin when he caught sight of the shiny gold foil packet, that had hitched a ride with the ring, go flying through the air to make an unceremonious landing on top of Melissa's tea rose and baby's breath bouquet.

Dana chanced a glance at her sister. Melissa's mouth still hung open in muted surprise and Dana giggled in spite of herself.

Mulder sent up a silent thank you to the Supreme Being and relaxed. If this was the extent of the impending disaster he was expecting...well, he could deal with it. Slowly, Fox turned to his cousin, tilted his head to one side, and sighed. "Expecting some action' tonight, Cous?" he whispered drolly, adopting his best deadpan expression.

Stifled titters ensued for several seconds until Alex's crimson flush subsided enough for the ceremony to resume.

"Fox Ian Mulder, Dana Katherine Scully, you have both pledged your trust, honor, faithfulness, and love to one another. I have been informed that there is something else you wished to add to these vows."

Fox turned to his Dana, nervous and almost shy, then spoke in a rich and loving tone that trembled with emotion. "I tried to think of something to say that was poetic -- some word or phrase that could encompass all that you mean to me -- and I discovered much to my dismay that I couldn't.

There are no words, no expression on this earthly plane that could even come close to what I feel. So... maybe I can just tell you in my own inadequate way how grateful and humble I am that you could find it in your heart to love an idealistic fool like me. Thank you, Dana. Thank you for standing by me when others couldn't see my vision; for helping me see the truth through all the lies; for all the joy that you brought to my life just when I thought such a thing could never be mine; for every wrong that you made right and every dream you made come true; for being there to hold me up when the sorrow and pain of my life would drive me to my knees.

You never let me give up. You are always there for me and I'll be forever thankful to you for awakening the love inside of me that I thought had died long ago."

Dana's eyes were so full of emotion that she felt they were going to spill over at any moment, and she was sure her voice had deserted her. But she gazed in Mulder's eyes, so soft and gentle, and they gave her strength, just as they always did. Somehow she found her own soft, reflective voice. "My feet were glued to the ground. Permanently attached to the concrete, my spirit without imagination. I never allowed myself to consider what I couldn't see, or touch, or feel. Fox, you gave me my wings. You freed my spirit the first time you held my hand and told me I could touch the sky and that no star was out of my reach. You returned a faith I'd thought I'd lost and stood by me, close enough to feel your strength yet far enough away to allow me to stand on my own. I'm grateful for each day you give to me, because I know that life is fleeting and that no tomorrow is guaranteed.

There is so much I now realize that I don't know, but one thing remains true -- I am blessed because I am loved by you."

By the time she'd finished, Fox's eyes were brimming with the tears born of emotions he'd long held in check. He smiled with a quiet joy. "You are always there for me, your love a shining beacon carrying me through the darkness, bringing light into my life," he replied in a husky voice. "You're my inspiration. Through all the deceptions, you are the truth. My world's a brighter place because of you."

Staring into his eyes, love brimming in joyful tears that had finally spilled onto her cheeks, she softly whispered the last of her soul to him.

"You were my strength when I thought I'd faltered, my voice when there was no one to speak for me. You opened my eyes when I closed my mind and refused to see. And just when I think I am at my worst, you always see the best there is in me. You lift me up when the stars seem just too far away and give me faith, because you believe. I'm everything I am because you love me."

Father Collins placed his hand on top of their joined ones. "Fox Ian, you have given yourself in complete and total trust to Dana Katherine," he said.

"She has accepted and returned her gift to you. With pledges given and received, and by the power invested in me by the Holy Catholic Church and the State of Nevada, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife," he grinned at both of them as he saw the realization of what had happened sink in, just as it did with every new couple. Sometimes they needed a little prompting. "You may kiss your bride, Mr. Mulder."

Mulder didn't have to be asked twice. His mouth screamed in agony and his butt itched incessantly, but Dana Katherine was his -- officially -- and nothing was going to stop this kiss. Nothing.

Eager lips met possessively, lingering long past what would appear to be prudent, but as far as Mulder was concerned, it didn't last long enough.

Standing in front of God and man kissing his wife all night long certainly wasn't practical. He knew that. He also knew that he didn't have the strength of will to end it even though in the back of his mind he was cognizant of the fact that his breath at this point was probably getting pretty rank and he shouldn't subject Dana to that torture any longer than necessary. True, he'd demolished a whole roll of Mentos and she hadn't complained, but it really didn't take a doctor to tell him that the stupid infection was doing weird things to his mouth and the resulting odor could not be a pleasant experience for her. The notion finally came to him after several days of denial that he would have to do something about this problem sooner or later, so when Mulder felt his beautiful bride, warm and willing in his arms, he decided right there and then that later suited him just fine.

They parted reluctantly as Dana briefly gasped for air. Sweet Jesus, that man could kiss!

"Ladies and gentlemen," Father Collins said. "May I present Mr. and Mrs. Fox Mulder." The church erupted into loud applause, and Dana could swear that Jake, if not her brother, gave a loud whistle.

She stared out at the small group of friends and relatives gathered in the church. Mom and Melissa were both drying their eyes and beaming at them at the same time. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a familiar little man, or at least she thought she did. What was he doing here and who was he -- really? Dr. Jay always seemed to be around lately, just out of sight, hanging back in the edge of shadows. She never usually saw him, but a part of her was always aware of his presence. Dana felt that perhaps his occasional surveillance should worry her, but for some reason knowing he was there only seemed to elicit a feeling of love and concern instead of the paranoia she usually experienced when she knew they were being watched.

Dana knew she wasn't the only one who knew when Dr. Jay was around.

Mulder wasn't insensitive to the little man shadowing him, and sometimes when he wasn't preoccupied, he also knew when he was being observed.

Now, however, Mulder seemed to be oblivious, which was perfectly understandable.

What was this man's connection to her husband and now apparently to her?

How did he always seem to know where to find them? Was it coincidence?

Dana glanced at Mulder again to see whether he'd spotted the little man, which he hadn't, and when she looked back up, their friend was gone. Dana began to wonder if Dr. Jay wasn't just a collective hallucination that she and Mulder shared and was just about to voice that opinion when Mulder grabbed her hand and pulled them into a mad dash toward the changing rooms. So much for a dignified exit, Dana thought.

Chapter 7: Even The Best Made Plans Can Go Awry...Those last thirty seconds of kissing were their downfall, Mulder decided.

Just when he thought they might make a clean getaway, they were intercepted just outside the hallway by several Scullys, a couple of Macloeds, a Moorehouse, and -- as unbelievable as it seemed to Mulder at the time -- one happily smiling Walter Skinner. The grinning revelers ushered the couple past the rooms, out onto the sidewalk, and into a waiting stretch limo where the group piled in after them.

"What the hell's going on?" Mulder panted, now out of breath.

"Well, Fox," Skinner replied, using Mulder's first name since he knew he could get away with it. "It's like this. We took a vote and decided that you really needed a bachelor party. A little belated, but better late than never right?"

Mulder shook his head and cleared one ear vigorously with his index finger. Could be he'd heard that wrong but he didn't think so. This turn of events was slightly rattling. "Bachelor party?" he asked.

Skinner draped his arm over Mulder's shoulders in an uncharacteristically friendly fashion and with a gleam in his eyes replied in his familiar authoritative voice of command. "Agent Mulder, it is the consensus of those present that you are long overdue and are in dire need of some serious recreational partying."

"But sir," Mulder ventured warily. "I'm not a bachelor. I just got married!"

"Which is why we bent the rules a bit and generously allowed your beautiful new wife, not to mention the other lovely ladies here, to accompany us," Walter snickered.

"Huh?" Mulder knew it was lame, but given the circumstances, it was the best he could come up with. This was getting more bizarre by the minute like a bad scene from the 'Invasion of the Bodysnatchers'. Things just seemed a little out of kilter here or maybe it was just him. Mulder covertly slipped his hand around to scratch his rear. Oh god, his ass itched. Why couldn't they make this thing out of cotton? All he wanted to do was go to his hotel suite, get this damn wool off, and make passionate, monumental love to his new wife. His friends and relatives, however, obviously had other plans for them this evening, which apparently didn't include changing their fucking clothes. Okay, fine. I surrender, even if I do end up looking like a walking welt. How much trouble could I get into with Dana and Skinner along as chaperones? "Taking your wife to your bachelor party -- what a novel concept," he muttered dubiously.

"Come on, loosen up, Mulder," Bill Scully piped up with enthusiasm.

"We'll start at Brew Brothers in the Silver Legacy and work our way through the casinos until we end up at your hotel. It'll be great!!! You'll see," Billed wheedled. If we can get him started with a few drinks at the Brew, and if what Dana and his family informed me about Mulder's alcohol intolerance is true, he should be blizted by the third night club. The Brew Brothers? Mulder had a mental flash of Dan Akroyd and John Belushi in bad suits and dark glasses singing Soul Man. Somehow his outfit didn't fit into the picture. "First of all I'm ... I'm in a kilt for god's sake and she's ..." Mulder motioned toward Dana with one hand, "in her grandmother's wedding gown. Not exactly what I'd call acceptable partywear, would you? Secondly, we're primarily here on a case and have to work tomorrow," he hedged, sneaking a glance at Scully who merely shrugged noncommittally. That's right sweetheart, thanks for the support.

"Since when did you ever sleep more than three or four hours anyway, Cous? Even if you did go back to your hotel, you can't tell me that you'd be sleeping," Alex snorted with an obscene overtone.

"Yes, but wild, hot, sweaty sex, though exhausting, seldom leaves one with a hangover the next morning," Mulder threw in, not to be outdone.

Skinner had to chuckle. If Mulder agreed to this little foray, he realized they'd all have their hands full for the word 'moderation' didn't seem to exist in this young man's vocabulary. No matter what his protege protege was involved in, he always attacked the situation with the obsessive single-mindedness of a wolverine. Skinner had no doubts that this tendency extended itself into the realm of partying as well. Mulder would go at it full tilt, as usual, and it was probably a correct assumption that he wouldn't be worth a shit in the morning -- especially after what the gang had planned for the unsuspecting groom. Skinner almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"So we won't keep you up past your bedtime," Melissa offered. She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow, challenging him with her eyes, then looked at her sister in mock surprise. "Jesus, Dana, I thought you said that one of the things you liked about Mulder was his openness to new ideas and his adventurous nature. Are we talking about the same guy here?"

"You're not gonna wimp out on us, are ya kid?" Jake asked, adding fuel to the fire. He winked a Dana and continued his jab at Mulder, his voice heavily laden with disappointment. "And here I thought you were different than all those other Fibbie fairy queens."

This las remark earned Jake an unpleasant glare from Skinner until Alex lightly kicked Skinner's foot and winked.

Oh great. It was his turn again. How ironic. He'd spent most of his waking hours having to goad Mulder for a bunch of bureaucratic assholes he couldn't stomach, but when it came to prodding the man for a constructive purpose, he was at a sudden loss of words. Think, Walter. He stared at Mulder, using the same penetrating gaze he did at the office. Luckily no one had figured out yet that the Skinner stare was just a cover-up he used whenever he was searching for the right, or proper, thing to say.

An unconventional idea creeped into his mind almost effortlessly. The best ones usually did. "Mulder," the AD began slowly. "Even if you decline our gracious offer, it was still worth traveling two thousand miles just to see you in that lovely skirt," he said as seriously as he could while gazing down over the rims of his glasses at the squirming agent. "I know a couple of agents over in wiretap who'd just love to hear all about that." Skinner pointed to the kilt. "In detail," he threatened with a shark's smile.

Mulder's hand automatically dropped to shove the garment between his legs, self-consciously pulling his knees together. He wished, not for the first time that evening, that he'd been able to wear his boxers under this thing. Skinner wouldn't dare -- would he? And how'd he find out about those two federal fairies anyway? I swear, if those two maladjusted advocates of alternative lifestyles are spreading rumors about me, I'm going to hunt them down and give them both bad perms.

He'd always assumed that the basement office The X-Files had been shuffled to was the lowest he could go in the Bureau. He'd been wrong. When he'd been punished and sent to Blue Collar, two of the denizens of the FBI's most boring detail had made his life miserable for weeks. He finally convinced them, rather forcefully, that he was as straight as an arrow, and in no uncertain terms was he interested in what they were pushing -- ever.

Granted, slamming one of the fuckers against the wall and snarling in his face was probably not the most professional approach to handling the situation, but it worked, goddamn it, and they'd left him alone. Somehow the incident must have made it to Skinner's ears. Funny, this was the first time Skinner ever mentioned it to him. Chances were his boss wouldn't really sick those two on him. Still...Damn. It's that peer pressure thing all over again. The last time he'd caved into it was in high school and it had ended badly. Against his better judgment, he'd allowed himself to be talked into partying with the popular crowd. Only they'd ended up in some biker bar, where he'd promptly been beaten half to death. His 'peers' had left, stranding him in a notoriously seedy part of town. When he'd awakened in the hospital emergency room, his father had held no pity for him, informing him that he'd gotten what he deserved for being talked into doing something so stupid.

But this is different, he argued with himself. Yeah, how? These are people you trust. Trust no one. These are people, who god only knows why, care about you. They're right, Mulder. It's your damn wedding night.

Live a little. Mulder's shoulder's sagged in defeat. "Okay, okay, but we're back at our hotel room by midnight. Deal?"

Melissa snorted a condescending hmph. "Or what? Are you going to turn into a pumpkin or something?"

"That was in Cinderella, and it was the coach that turned into a pumpkin," he reminded her.

"Yeah, you're right. You'd probably turned into a toad," she replied.

"Wrong again," he said. "I morph into Merlin. You wanna see my magic wand?" he leered.

Dana, who had been relatively quiet up to this point had finally decided that enough was enough. "Mulder!!" she sputtered with feigned mortification.

"Is that any way to talk to your sister-in-law?"

Fox looked up with the practiced appearance of total innocence that he'd perfected over his years with her. Moorehouse practically split a gut in response as they pulled up in front of the Silver Legacy. This was gonna be an interesting night, if nothing else.

The huge dome of the Silver Legacy loomed overhead, looking out of place in the center of all the surrounding hotel towers. Painted a plain, stark white, colored lights aimed at the huge ball's shiny surface made it look like a brightly splotched round Easter egg. Mulder shared a look with Moorehouse. "Yeah, I know, I know," the detective grumbled. "Between this and the bowling stadium, Reno's got balls."

"Pretty damn big ones," Mulder replied, his neck craned back as he tilted his head to get a better look at the dome.

Moorehouse shrugged. "Some people like it, some people don't. Lots of folks here don't want to be known as Las Vegas North. The rest think it can't happen soon enough."

"Progress. Gotta love it," Mulder said as they entered the casino.

It wasn't exactly what Mulder expected. Instead of the crass, loud carpeting he'd been sure he'd find, the soft pile underfoot was a geometric pattern of subdued autumn colors. Sure, there were plenty of flashing lights and noise, but behind it all was a rustic look of old wood. The Silver Lode, he thought - that must be the 'theme' of this place. A modern version of the old west, right down to the stylized western wear sported by the dealers and cocktail wai tresses.

The party passed through the initial rows of slot machines inside the casino doors. Although at first Mulder and Dana collected a few stares, most of the patrons seemed to take their wedding attire -- even Mulder's strange version of it -- in stride. It was Reno and weddings were big business, right up there with gambling. It wasn't an unusual occurrence to see an entire wedding party, in full costume, march down the street in broad daylight heading for a local wedding chappel. Besides, for all the casino patrons knew, they could be the next lounge act.

Moorehouse headed off toward the escalators but stopped when he realized he'd lost the rest of his party. Brew Brothers was upstairs on the mezzanine level, but it looked like it would have to wait for a few minutes.

Mulder had made it as far as the large gaming table area, and was staring around the vast space with his mouth half open. Gonna catch flies, Moorehouse thought with a grin. Well, they could wait. It wasn't like you needed reservations just to sit in the bar, after all.

Skinner leaned nonchalantly against the end of a row of slot machines, carefully out of the way of the little old lady who was busy feeding quarters into the three machines at the end of the row. It had been a while since Skinner had been inside a casino, and he noted with wry amusement that the one-armed bandits here were armless. The handles had been replaced with electronic circuitry, and all a gambler had to do was press a button instead of pull a handle. Somehow it didn't seem like it would be nearly as satisfying, although you couldn't tell that by looking at the lady gambling here. Sitting on a stool at the middle machine, she could reach each of the three machines and worked them all in a steady rhythm. As Skinner watched, one of the machines erupted with lights and bells and a stream of quarters fell into the tray at the bottom. The lady scooped them up and added them to a plastic bucket a third full of quarters. Skinner wondered if she'd have any of them left at the end of the night.

The lady noticed Skinner watching her and frowned at him. Figuring he'd better focus his attention elsewhere before she got nervous - gamblers had been dropping like flies in Reno, after all - he turned his attention to Mulder. This relatively young agent had done more, seen more, and endured more than ten agents twice his age, yet the youthful innocence and fire he projected right at this moment was nearly overwhelming in its intensity. Skinner wondered if it was this incredibly odd mix of child and man that drew him to Mulder, made him support and protect he man even when he knew it was against his own best interests. Mulder's look of excitement and anticipation was hard to miss, and Walter found himself becoming almost envious of the younger man's enthusiastic response to what he'd regarded as passe'.

Barely contained static energy revealed itself in Mulder's quick, bouncing movements and darting eyes. Although it tried for dignity with its subdued tones and natural wood highlights, the whole place was still an exercise in gawdy, tasteless decor -- and he love every inch of it. This was a young boy's fantasy come to life, a never-ending carnival of lights, action, color, and sound. A cacophony of sensations threatened to subject him to a serious case of sensory overload. The clinking of coinage; the thrill of the games; the promise of luck; the cheering voices; and the hypnotic spin of the wheel of chance -- all these things held him momentarily spellbound.

The little boy he'd never been allowed to be longed to be a part of this. Fox Mulder wanted to 'come out and play.' The only problem was, now that he had the opportunity, he didn't know how.

"What's the matter, son? Never been in a casino before?" Skinner inquired out loud even though Mulder's mesmerized expression made the assumption a perfectly logical one.

"Only once in Atlantic City," Mulder muttered absently. "It was a long time ago and I was pretty wrapped up in a case. I guess I really wasn't paying attention." Did he just hear Skinner call him 'son?' Nah, couldn't have, no way. After getting his tooth fixed, maybe he needed to have his hearing checked as well.

"Ah, come on, Mulder," Alex prodded him. "You mean to tell me you've been to Europe and never once gambled in a casino?"

"I was up to my ass in dissertations at Oxford for crissakes. I must have missed out on that little aspect of nightlife. So sue me," Mulder retorted defensively. "I could play the slots." A hopeful expression lit up his face.

"That doesn't take any skill, does it?"

"Negative on the slots, kid," Moorehouse jumped in. "The odds aren't with you on the one arm bandits. Believe me. That's why you see so many of them in here. Easy money for the house. You don't think they could build all this 'cause they lose money, do you?"

Mulder considered it and had to admit that Jake was probably right. But still... "Well, I can't very well have a night out on the town and not gamble, can I?"

"Do you play cards?" Moorehouse asked.

"I played some poker when I was a kid and a little in college," Mulder replied.

"Well, it's a start," sighed Bill. He shoved a pamphlet he'd picked up inside the front door into Mulder's hands. "Why don't you play more often?"

"I'm not into gambling, I guess. And nobody wants to play cards with a guy who always wins," he said in a slightly dejected tone of voice.

"Always?" Skinner asked, finding this conversation more interesting by the minute.

"Always, sir," Mulder stated with flat certainty.

"Read," Skinner ordered, pointing at the pamphlet.

"Yes, sir." Mulder obeyed -- for once.

Dana watched her husband scan the little pamphlet en

d, 'How to Win at 21 in Ten Easy Steps,' and sighed. This wasn't going exactly how she'd planned. But their lives had always been a series of the best laid plans gone astray. Could be what made life with Mulder so interesting and exciting.

Oh, noooo

A sly smile of dawning elation crept over Mulder's face as he read. "Hey, this is easy!!" he exclaimed smugly. She knew that look and all the implications that went with it. Just one night without any unforeseen variables -- just one. That's all she wanted. Damn her brother for suggesting this place. Why couldn't they just have taken him to a lousy bar and gotten him sloshed like they were supposed to do? Now that there was a challenge at hand, she'd never get him out of this place.

"Hey, kid, don't get uppity," scolded Jake. "It takes years of practice and experience to win big at 21, so don't feel bad if you don't win right away.

Just reading a booklet don't make you an expert," Jake commented as they herded Mulder over to a nearby 21 table. Jake made sure it was a dollar table, not one of the higher stakes tables. The dealer looked friendly enough, and there was only one other player already seated. With a look back at his companions, Mulder tentatively sat down.

One hour later and a thousand dollars richer, Dana finally convinced everyone that it was time to move on to the bar they'd originally come here for. Navigating the escalator in her grandmother's wedding dress was a challenge, but it was easier than the stairs.

Brew Brothers was worth the trip. Moorehouse explained that it was a local beer brewery, the newest of several that had sprouted in the area.

While they served all the regular bar drinks, the real treat was the variety of house beer brewed on the premises. About that they weren't kidding. Clear plate glass windows covered one side of the bar, and on the other side the brewery's huge beer vats were displayed.

The wedding party took up a group of tables in one corner of the bar. Light was provided by banks of television screens that lined the other walls of the bar. Most of the screens were tuned to various college basketball teams playing in the Ncaa tournament. March Madness, they called it, Dana thought. Could also apply to this whole evening. And to think, only 24 hours ago I was blissfully unaware that Mulder had all this in store for me.

Payback's a bitch, sweetheart, she thought with an evil grin.

Moorehouse told her that the pizza in this place was great, and Dana asked their waitress for a menu. Her stomach was growling at her, reminding her that lunch in Atlanta had been a very long time ago. Although she wanted the garlic special, she told herself that it probably wasn't a good idea to go to bed on her wedding night with mega garlic breath, so she settled on a vegetarian pizza. Skinner added a pepperoni pizza to the order and her sister ordered a side of garlic bread. Well, it wasn't like Melissa was going to be spending the night with anyone, after all.

Moorehouse watched Mulder frown over the beer menu. "Here, let me take care of that," he said, relieving Mulder of the menu. "Trust me."

"Last time someone said that, I ended up in the hospital," Mulder commented.

"Kid, you always end up in the hospital," Moorehouse replied, to the general amusement of everyone else.

"So how come you ended up here?" Mulder asked, attempting to change the subject.

"You mean, how come I went crazy and gave up retirement in sunny Florida for chasing criminals in Reno-of-all-places, Nevada?" Moorehouse shook his head. "Beats the hell out of me. I just came up for a visit with an old friend of mine, about to retire from the force himself. I hung around with him for a few days, and what can I tell you -- it just got to me. I missed it. Hell, I guess I'm just not the retiring type."

"What about... ?" Dana began, then stopped, reminding herself that it wasn't polite to ask about some things.

"The money?" Moorehouse shrugged. "I gave some of it away. The rest is tucked away for when I really do retire. Funny, all those years in New York, all I looked forward to was retiring, but when it finally happened, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Lot of hours to fill gets hard to do by yourself."

"Maybe you just need someone to share it with you," Melissa said, a matchmaker's gleam shining in her eyes.

"Hey, no bright ideas, toots," Moorehouse said. "I'm doing just fine by myself."

"Right," Mulder said. He was about to make another comment when the waitress returned with their drinks. Mulder nearly fell out of his chair when she set seven glasses of beer in front of him. "This all can't be mine," he protested.

"It's called a sampler," Moorehouse said, laughing at him. "I'd suggest you start with the honey pale ale. Just like eating honey roasted peanuts."

Mulder glared at him. He should have known better than to trust Moorehouse, but he was out to have some fun tonight, right? And they were small glasses of beer, even if there were seven of them. Mulder picked up the glass Moorehouse indicated and took a sip. It did taste like honey roasted peanuts. He'd had to pass on peanuts on the plane, and this was liquid nourishment, after all. Mulder took another swallow of the ale.

"How did you do that?" asked Jake as he downed a shot of whiskey, followed closely by a swig of his own beer.

"Do what?" Mulder asked with a puzzled expression. He finished off the first beer and picked up the next glass Moorehouse indicated.

"I think he just wants to know how you won all that money the first time out," explained Bill.

"Beginner's luck," Catie chimed in. "That's it, just beginner's luck."

"Either that or you've been stonewalling us, Mulder," Skinner added.

"Hey, luck's got nothing to do with it. It's not luck when you know what's left in the dealer's deck, is it now?" chuckled Mulder who at that moment was insufferably pleased with himself. Of course, that had nothing to do with the beer.

"So now you're telling us you're the psychic? Make room for the 'Great Muldini' -- knows all, sees all -- drinks all," Melissa giggled as she noted Mulder was now on his third beer. "Now that you're part of the family, you should know there's only one of us allowed."

"You're a counter," Moorehouse stated with certainty. "A goddamn counter."

"Counter? What the hell's that?" Mulder asked.

"Someone who is definitely frowned on by every local gambling establishment in town, my friend," Moorehouse replied. "Counting cards'll get you banned quicker than goosing the CEO's girlfriend. The house figures it gives you an unfair advantage in what's supposed to be a game of chance."

"Even if it's a natural ability?" Dana asked, helping herself to a hot slice of pizza. Mulder couldn't help it if his memory gave him instant replay and his quick mind let him fill in the missing pieces.

"That don't matter," Moorehouse said around a bite of pepperoni pizza.

None of that veggie crap for him, no matter what his doctor said. "It's still a form of cheating the house, and if security catches you, they'll show you the sidewalk quick and make sure you don't find your way back in," he paused to wipe a smear of sauce from the side of his mouth. "If the kid had kept up that winning streak all night, you can be sure someone would have been paying him a visit."

Dana sat up straighter, leaning in to hear Moorehouse over the background noise in the bar. "Card counters must be hard to catch," she mused, thinking of the large amounts of money on each of the victims found outside the Red Sands. "How is it done, exactly?"

"You mean other than the idiots who try to hide those palmtop computers in their clothes to help jog their memories?" Dana nodded. "Did you notice the guy in the suit wandering around behind the dealers?" Another nod.

"Well, he's the pit boss, and one of his jobs is to observe the gamblers, keep track of how much each is winning. If someone gets on a hot streak that won't stop, he'll switch the dealer -- maybe she's been dealing from the bottom of the deck to help the guy out, right? If the guy keeps winning, the pit boss signals security and they zoom in on him with all that high tech security equipment hiding behind the mirrors in the ceiling over the pit.

You can bet that if you walk around in a casino, someone somewhere is watching."

Shivers ran down Dana's spine. Of course, she knew all about the security cameras since she'd been staring at prints taken from the Red Sands' system only a few hours ago. Yet when they'd been downstairs watching Mulder gamble, it hadn't even occurred to her that unseen eyes were observing them. Still... "I don't see how all that can catch a card counter."

Moorehouse grabbed another piece of Skinner's pizza. "Not everybody's as talented as your husband, Red. Most people need some kind of system to keep track, even if it's counting on fingers and toes. Security guards are trained to spot that type of thing. And the house will buy the lucky winner drinks, try to loosen him up a bit so he gets sloppy and messes up." Dana's eyebrows rose. "What, you think the house buys drinks out of the goodness of its heart?"

"Not anymore," she replied.

"I don't want to burst your bubble here," Moorehouse said. "If you're rich and famous, and in the habit of dropping twenty or thirty grand every time you step inside, the house'll suck up to you like you're royalty. Bottom line -- if it's good for business, they'll do it. If it's bad for business, they'll put a stop to it."

"Corporate America at its finest," Dana muttered. "I wonder if that's what happened to those people at the Red Sands."

"Agent Scully," Skinner interrupted gruffly. "Am I hearing right? You're discussing a case on your wedding night?" Skinner watched her squirm a bit under his glare, then softened his gaze. "Dana, relax, enjoy the party. Wedding nights happen once in a lifetime - or at least they're supposed to. You can all get back to the case in the morning. Tonight, I expect you to enjoy yourself." He handed her another slice of her pizza. "That's an order," he added.

"Yes, sir," Dana said with a grin.

Now on his fifth beer (they'd gone down amazingly smooth), Mulder turned to Melissa, favoring her with the trademark Mulder grin. "If you're so damn smart and in tune with the psychic forces of nature," he mumbled around a muffled belch, "tell me, oh enlightened one... where do I have to go right now?" Mulder raised one eyebrow in mock challenge.

Melissa laughed. Mulder was so damn cute when he was sloshed, and he was well on his way. She raised one arm and pointed to the rear of the room. "Men's room's back in the corner, oh Great Muldini."

"Holy shit!! That's fucking amazing!!!" Mulder exclaimed with a gasp as he attempted to get up from his seat. "Dana," he slurred.

Oh boy, his eyes were starting to glaze over, his balance wavering and his judgment... faltering. "What?" she ventured.

"She's good."

"Yes, she is. She's my sister, remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Your sister-in-law?" Dana prodded.

"Hey, we're related!" Mulder said to Melissa as if the idea just occurred to him. He finally lurched to his feet. "Now where was the men's room again?"

Melissa pointed to the corner. By the looks of things they wouldn't have to hit any more bars tonight before they could put the rest of the plan in motion.

"Photographic memory," Dana finally muttered when Mulder was out of earshot. "He knows what's in the dealer's hand because he remembers all the cards that have been played. He can make pretty good deductions on where the remaining cards in the deck are. But he can't remember where the men's room is, and he gets lost even with a roadmap." Dana shook her head with a grin, playing with the ring on the third finger of her left hand.

"And he's all mine," she sighed contentedly.

Mulder was slowly crossing the room back to their table when he accidentally stumbled into a cocktail waitress crossing in front of him.

"Oops, sorry," he apologized profusely as he bent over to pick up a pile of napkins from the floor. For some reason his fingers weren't working quite right and it took him a little while to round up all those annoying little squares. By the time he started to straighten up, the waitress was bending over to help and he found himself face to... ah... face with the biggest pair of breasts he'd seen in a long time. Mulder froze, his brain way too sluggish to come up with a suggestion as to exactly what he was supposed to do now. Thankfully, the waitress didn't seem to notice. She just turned around to retrieve a tangle of swizzle sticks from under a stool, giving him a much better look than he wanted of what she wore - or didn't exactly wear under that Old West cocktail waitress get up.

Oh God, why did these things always happen to him? He knew he wasn't supposed to look. Dana would kill him. But he was only human and fairly drunk. He didn't touch anything, after all, so how much trouble could he possibly be in? That question was answered when the young woman stood up, reached under her tray and took a good handful of him, smiling with sudden appreciation. "I always wanted to know what a guy wore under one of those things," she muttered under her breath. "I figured this was my only chance to find out, since I just showed you what I wear under my skirt."

Dana exploded from her chair as if she'd been shot out of a canon. I'm fucked. I didn't do anything... and I'm still fucked.

Dana couldn't believe what she'd just seen with her own eyes. Why was she angry with Fox? He didn't do anything... he really didn't. But knowing that just didn't seem to help, and she found herself wanting to blast him. She'd have to learn to deal with other women coming on to her husband. She knew that. Mulder couldn't help it -- hell, he was oblivious to it most of the time. But she just didn't feel like being rational and logical right now. This was her wedding night and that was her husband. The only one doing any Mulder-grabbing tonight was supposed to be her.

It took her about two seconds to cross the room to where Mulder stood, head hanging slightly, looking thoroughly miserable. "What the hell was that all about?" she hissed while leading him back to his chair.

"I honestly don't know," he replied following a hiccup. He flopped back into his chair and took a swig of his sixth glass of beer. It was a heavy, dark ale, something he normally wouldn't go for, but he'd pretty much quit tasting the flavors after about the third one.

"Better get the man a bodyguard," advised Bill.

"It's not funny," Dana grumbled. She was still angry, and all of a sudden she was aware of the extra weight she carried around her middle and the slightly puffy feel of her ankles. Shit, what a time to be reminded that she didn't cut such a trim figure anymore. She studied Mulder for several seconds. "Is that what you want? A skinny, manufactured boob princess in a low-cut, pushup bra and butt floss?"

"What?" Mulder's foggy brain was trying to sort through all the input and was running on about a five second delay. Comprehension finally dawned.

"Butt floss?" Did she actually say that? He burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. The mental picture that slowly formed in his brain was unbearably funny.

Evidently he wasn't the only one who thought so. At first they just snickered, trying to be aware of Dana's hurt feelings. Moorehouse was the first to totally lose it, doubling over as giggles turned into belly laughs.

Even Melissa joined in. "Uh, Dana?" she asked. "Does that come in a handy little dispenser like the dental type?"

Dana looked around the table, amazed. Was she the only one who didn't think this was funny? And did it have anything to do with the fact that she was drinking mineral water, straight, and not something alcoholic? Even Skinner was laughing so hard he had to take his glasses off to wipe his streaming eyes.

Mulder finally got it through his head that his bride expected an answer, if he could just remember what the question had been. Oh, yeah, something about what he wanted. "I don't want tits and ass.. I just want you," he pined mournfully.

"Thanks a lot, Mulder... I think," Scully replied. She ruffled his hair affectionately. "I forgive you."

Mulder looked to Skinner for an explanation. "I've been forgiven, but I don't know exactly what it was that I did wrong."

"It's not important. Let it go," his boss whispered.

"Quit while you're ahead...well almost," advised Alex. "The more you try to dig yourself out, the deeper you sink. Remember that. I've been there, done that."

"Oh, is that right?" asked Catie, one eyebrow raised dangerously.

Shit, he'd better stop trying to give Mulder pointers and follow his own damn advice before he ended up on the couch. "Geez, Catie, I was just kidding," he squeaked, trying to recover the fumble.

"Uh huh," Catie replied, not quite convinced of his sincerity. "Better shut up and finish your drink, Swami Alex, before you hammer another nail in your coffin."

"I'll drink to that," Mulder slurred happily as Skinner handed him the seventh, and last, glass of beer.

"Drink to what?" Skinner slurred back.

Dana noticed that even though the A.D. had been drinking shooters all night along with Moorehouse, he was only now starting to show any signs of inibriation. Although he was obviously feeling no pain, Skinner was still in far better control of himself than Mulder, who after seven beers was about ready to slide under the table. Probably had something to do with the fact that Skinner'd also had pizza to eat, and the last time anything approaching food had passed Mulder's lips had been his fruit salad shake back in Atlanta. He was going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning, Dana thought.

Mulder's brain processed Skinner's question as if his neurons were dog paddling through a river of molasses. When the answer finally came to him, he'd nearly forgotten the question again. "Um... drink to... um... anything, everything! Tie die jeans... coffins. Ah no, that's Alex who's drinking to coffins. Butt floss??? Wait, I know, I know --- nails. That's it!!! Nailing butt floss in coffins!" Mulder beamed, proud of the fact that he'd managed to get out what he believed to be a coherent thought.

Bill had sudden feelings of deja' vu, remembering an incident at the dinner table not too long ago. The beer he'd just been sipping caught in his throat and sprayed out of his nose, soaking Skinner. "Goddamn it, Mulder," Bill choked. "Why can't you wait until after I've swallowed to say stupid shit like that?"

"Oh... bite me, Bill. How am I s'posed to know when you're gonna swal--low," Mulder hiccupped. "Next time just let me know and I'll make a fucking anuncim... annousmin... I'll tell everybody." Mulder raised a single wavering finger before his pursed lips. "Shssssh... everybody shut up. Bill will now... um... he's uh... gonna swall--low. There... happy?"

Dana, naturally being the only sober soul in the group, feared she was rapidly losing control of the situation. Well, at least Mulder wasn't a 'mean' drunk. If anything, he became sentimentally soppy, overly affectionate unfortunately to just about everyone, and downright silly. The rest of the gang, including her siblings, were just as unbelievably dopey. Still, she really thought she finally had everything under control until Fox started leading them into boisterously singing 'I've Got a Loverly Bunch of Coconuts.' That in itself would not have been such a terrible thing except for the fact that with an ex-Marine, an ex New York City cop, one Navy officer, and Mulder's own warped sense of humor, the words to the song were taking a deeper plunge into the depths of depravity with each passing verse.

Dana sank lower into her chair until her chin nearly touched the surface of the table. With any luck the floor would open up and swallow her. After twenty-two renditions of improvised lyrics, she was fairly certain the establishment had probably reached its tolerance level for annoying patrons long ago. From the glares they were getting from the other occupants of the bar, it was clear they didn't appreciate the serenade either.

"Ok, everybody, I think it's time to hit the road," she announced, standing up and pulling Mulder along with her.

"Why, has it been bad?" Melissa tittered.

Dana stared pointedly at her sister. "Missy..."

"Oops, that's right," Melissa said, remembering the purpose for the party in the first place. "I guess we'd better go find our chariot."

After making sure she'd left a healthy tip, Dana herded their little group back down the escalator and outside. But she must have gotten turned around somehow, because instead of exiting out in front of the casino, they were in an alley. That's right, there'd been two entrances to the bar. They must have left by the other one. She wasn't about to march this group back the way they came through the bar - she might never get them out again so it looked like they were in for a little hike around the outside of the casino. At least it was late enough that the sidewalks were relatively deserted and it had stopped raining.

Unfortunately, once outside the group decided that there were a few verses of their theme song they hadn't finished exploring yet. Dana cringed as the sound bounced off concrete and glass, amplifying it. She hoped it wasn't too long of a walk to the limo. She also hoped none of the passersby took the off-color lyrics too seriously.

She was starting to think they'd make it back to the limo in one piece when her fears were confirmed. Two big men with very large arms were headed toward them. Shouldn't bodybuilders be in bed by now? she wondered.

"Guys!! Guys!!" Dana yelled above the din of off key tones. She tried unsuccessfully to get their attention and quiet her little unruly group.

Finally, Catie looked at Dana and followed her worried gaze. "Uh, oh," she muttered. "Hey, guys! Quiet! Gorillas at two o' clock!"

The song broke off disjointedly. Skinner immediately recognized the aggressive intentions in the men's expressions, posture, and movements.

Experience had taught him men like these were bullies who loved conflict and would use any excuse to start a fight. Hoping to avoid an all out and totally unnecessary confrontation, he moved to the front of the group, directly in the path of the approaching mountains of muscle. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

The two didn't reply, just stopped, clearly sizing up the group. Skinner gazed calmly back at them. "Well, if you'll excuse us, we were just headed down to the Jungle Club."

Mulder squinted, attempting to focus his blurry vision on his boss. "Do they wear buttfloss there, too?" he asked hopefully. He felt a fain twinge of pain and looked down just in time to see his loving wife withdrawing her knuckle from his arm. Several seconds passed before the impulse registered in his brain and a muffled "ouch" finally escaped his lips.

Skinner smiled faintly. "I'm sure they do, Mulder. It seems to be a standard occupational uniform around here. I think we should all be on our way now," he urged.

Skinner sighed deeply when he realized that the two Cromagnons didn't appear to be moving out of the way. Apparently they figured the wedding party in front of them was sufficiently sloshed to make the pickings easy.

He wondered if they were armed. This could be serious trouble.

"You offend us," growled one huge craggy face. "You're out here entertaining on our street without the proper permits."

"Which you should have gotten from us," the other drawled. "But you didn't."

"Better be careful using those big words like 'offend,'" Mulder snickered.

"You might burn out a brain cell and lords knows you can't spare any."

Skinner shot Mulder a look he interpreted to mean "shut the fuck up or I'll kill you myself," which Mulder reluctantly obeyed. After all, he was swilled to the gills. What the hell did he know?

"We didn't mean to offend," Skinner offered, trying to diffuse a tense si tuation. "And now that we know we have, we'll just leave quietly." The last thing he needed was to be involved in a brawl. Hell, he wasn't even supposed to be here.

"Well, you did, and now we're gonna have to collect a fine," the first po ck-marked face snarled. "We don't like your kind here, anyway."

Mulder's head snapped up. "Whadda mean, um...'our kind?'" he asked, narrowing his eyes and moving toward the front of the group.

Skinner raised a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. Shit!! His hopes for a trouble free evening were quickly going down the toilet. Mulder, let it drop, his mind engaged in a silent plea. "Mulder..." Skinner warned.

"No," Fox replied stubbornly. "I was... ah... jus' wondering what Popeye and his... um, twin Moby Dick here meant by 'our kind.'"

"Hey, Fox," Bill chuckled. "Isn't Moby Dick some kind of STD?"

Dana cringed. It was a toss up of who was worse -- Mulder or her damn brother.

Mulder eyed the lumbersome hulk before him and nodded slowly through an alcoholic haze. "Could be," he said. He took in the view of Musclehead's sidekick. "Better watch it, Bill," Mulder frowned. "It fucking multiplies. Better burp notify CDC. It might be ...hiccup contagious."

"Fox?" one ugly bastard mocked.

"Figures," his clone companion remarked with contempt.

"What figures?" Mulder's lips drew into a thin line.

Skinner tensed, readying himself for the inevitable. Fuck! This stupid asshole didn't know he was stepping into a snakepit. Mulder was primarily a non-violent man, and under normal circumstances, he would avoid a fight whenever possible. His track record of having the shit kicked out of him was due mainly to the fact that circumstances usually had him outnumbered or pitted against unusually lethal adversaries. Skinner had no doubts that even in his normal frame of mind, if sufficiently provoked in a one-on-one confrontation, Fox Mulder could be a formidable foe.

But when circumstances weren't normal... He'd only seen Mulder lose it once and it wasn't something he'd care to have repeated. They'd walked in on a suspect in the process of raping a twelve-year-old girl, and something inside the young man had snapped. Though the killer was in fact a much larger man than Mulder, he was still no match for the unleashed fury that raged through the young agent like a torrential flash flood. It'd taken five agents and himself to pull Mulder off. Granted, this was a totally different situation, but the memory lingered. Mulder was royally looped which meant his judgment and self-control were more than likely compromised as hell. The rest of the group weren't in much better shape except Dana, for obvious reasons. And because of those same reasons, Skinner wasn't about to let her get involved.

Skinner made a sudden move to step between the two men and Mulder only to bump into Alex who'd moved up to stand by his cousin.

"Jus' what are you inferring?" Mulder insisted, ignoring Skinner's attempts to silence him. The words might have been slurred, but the challenge came through loud and clear.

Dana was at his side, tugging repeatedly on his sleeve. "Come on, Fox.

You're drunk -- they're drunk. Think of me," she whispered. "Think of the baby. We could get hurt," she added as extra incentive. She knew she could take care of herself but right now fighting dirty seemed appropriate and she'd use whatever ammo was available to sway him.

This last little bit of information somehow sank into his brain and made an impression. Dana felt Mulder's muscles relax under her hand, and she knew he was ready to walk away. Thank God.

"What I'm sayin'," growled green teeth number one who'd made a point of glaring with disgust at Mulder and his cousin, "is that we don't want no fucking skirt wearin' fags on our street."

Alex stood up just a hitch straighter, balled up his fists by his sides and began to take a step forward. He felt his momentum halted by a gentle backward tug from his cousin's hand.

Looking down once more at his petite wife, Mulder bit his bottom lip and raised up both hands, fingers spread and palms out. Oh how he wanted to readjust the facial features of this mutant mongoloid but Scully was right as usual. He was drunk and the thought of even the remote chance of breaking the skin of his knuckles on those slimy green protrusions in that moron's mouth gave him the willies. God only knew what rare and fatal diseases were breeding there. Alright, he'd be good and try to overlook this minor attack on his manhood. "Well," Mulder replied cordially.

"Everyone's entitled to an opinion."

Alex's jaw dropped. He was dumbfounded. These two prime examples of primitive sibling inbreeding had just insulted them and their traditions and his cousin refused to defend their honor. And after Aunt Carol had just given him the broadsword, the legacy of their clan. Well, maybe Fox could let it slide but he'd be damned if he would.

Balling his fists, Alex drew his right arm back, then let rip with a swing he hadn't used since his high-school boxing days. The upward motion of his arm was halted forcefully and pressed back down to his side by Mulder's sudden and definitive grip. Damn, Fox was a lot stronger than he looked.

"I'm sure we're men enough to endure a few meaningless insults," Mulder told no one in particular. It took a bit of self-control to stifle the remarks that were jockeying for position within his fertile, albeit sloshed brain.

Skinner relaxed visibly with relief. With any luck, they might yet get out of this without forfeiting any important body parts.

"Then I guess you won't care if we tell ya to take 'Mr. Clean' over there with ya," Green teeth number two snarled into Mulder's face.

Mulder winced as the tenuous hold he had on his self-control shattered.

Smart remark number two gave smart remark number one a nasty shove out of his brain and onto his tongue before common sense could trip it up.

"Did anyone ever tell you that your breath is reminiscent of the Newark city sewer system on a hot Summer day?"

He swallowed hard as the mental midget in front of him tried to decipher what he'd said and determine just how pissed off he should be. Ah shit, Mulder, he mentally kicked himself. He'd tried to be good. Now their wedding night was going to be all screwed up for sure and it'd be his fault -- again.

Until this moment, Jake had been hanging quietly in the background, listening with amusement to confrontation between his friends and the men he'd referred to in the past as the 'Planters' Brothers,' a nickname he tagged on them mainly because he figured their combined brain capacity might possibly be able to house one small peanut. These two apes were notorious for roughing up tourists and taking their winnings. The department always had difficulty prosecuting the bums because their victims usually ended up being too intimidated to testify. It was tremendously gratifying to finally see these two pick on the wrong tourists. Of course, he didn't want to see anybody get hurt, but if a fight was unavoidable, he could think of nothing more satisfying than having these morons hauled in for assaulting not one, but three federal agents, one of whom was the FBI's very own Assitant Director. There was justice in this world after all.

"That better not mean what I think it means," the would-be king of the street finally replied to Mulder's insult.

"Fine," Mulder said slowly. "We'll just all leave now, Mr. Clean, the fag's friends and relatives, and these three lovely and charming ladies." That's amazing!! He smuggly congratulated himself for making it through all that without one belch, hiccup, or stutter. He glanced at Dana with a 'did I do good?' look.

Dana sent him what he would consider the covetted Dana Scully smile and nod of approval. She held back a giggle. If he'd been a puppy, he'd have been wagging his tail. On second thought, knowing Mulder, he'd probably be humping her leg, that is until he could get her alone.

Mulder sensed, however, that 'Jabba the Hut' seemed to have other plans and wasn't about to let them go without making a scene and marking his territory. He half expected this animal to whip out his dick and piss off on some invisible boundary.

Green teeth number one just stood facing Skinner and Moorehouse, who'd moved quietly up behind Skinner. This thug didn't say a whole lot, relying instead on glaring and grunting as intimidation, which in this case wasn't particularly effective. Green teeth number two must have gotten the larger portion of the pea that passed for a brain, Mulder reasoned, for he did most of the threatening verbalization. It didn't quite qualify as true communication but he figured it was as close as this guy was gonna get.

"Okay," Jabba sneered, "you guys can go."

Hey, Mulder considered, maybe there was something to this 'turn the other cheek' shit. He turned to take Dana's hand and was impolitely intercepted by a large meaty paw.

"Except for the red-headed whore. How much do you charge for the honeymoon fantasy, babe?" he asked, grabbing the neckline of her dress and pulling.

The last thing Dana heard before the melee began was the snapping of buttons, the tearing of lace, and the nearly inhuman growl of her mate as he flew at her attacker and tackled the ugly beast with the animalistic ferocity of a pissed off pit bull.

"Shiiiiitttt!!" Skinner and Moorehouse yelled as one voice as they slammed into the other lummox charging them.

Mulder smashed a well-aimed right fist into the bulbous face that he'd pinned to the floor. "If you Ever touch my wife again, you son of a bitch," he hissed between clenched teeth, "I'll rip off your goddamn balls, have em' bronzed and use em' for a fucking hood ornament!"

Jabba was not that easily subdued, however, and when what was left of his senses returned, he reached around Mulder with both massive arms and squeezed. Red hot pain shot through Fox's chest as the air fled from his lungs. Realizing he was in trouble, he did the only thing he could think of.

Raising his head up, he brought it down suddenly, slamming his forehead into the sneering face looking up at him. Now another pain assaulted his senses, dulled as they were. Little pinpricks of light danced in his head and behind his eyes. Well, shit. It worked for Skinner, he thought dismally as surrounding sounds and faint sirens began to fade into mist... leave to him to fucking knock himself out.

A dazed Jabba rolled Mulder off, lifted the limp figure off the ground and dashed him into a one of the planters that lined the sidewalk. A sadistic grin of triumph was suddenly wiped from his face, however, when his head exploded with a loud crack. Turning with his last ounce of effort before passing out, he found himself staring into the furious eyes of a petite red-head standing on top of the planter with the remains of a beer bottle still tightly grasped in one hand.

"This Bud's for you," she growled as Mulder's attacker dropped like a stone at the base of the planter.

City Jail
Reno, NV
11:28 pm

"Dana?" a worried familiar voice echoed through the hallway and holding cell.

"Mom?" Dana muttered in surprise. Oh God, not mom. Dana looked down at what remained of her grandmother's wedding gown and wished she could disappear. It could survive four generations of Scullys, several wars, but could not endure one lousy evening with a Mulder. She could have the lace replaced, she thought hurriedly, but just wasn't certain that the blood, the mud, and the beer stains would come out.

Dana got up slowly from Mulder's prone figure on the only cot in the room and shuffled toward her mother standing on the other side of the bars. "Oh mom, I'm sooo sorry," she cried, tears staining the sides of her face. "The dress is ruined."

Margaret stared at her daughter in disbelief. "You think I'm upset about the dress?? Honey, that dress is an Irish family heirloom and was made to withstand hell or high water. You're not the first one to put it through either. I would like to hear the story behind this one, though. I can't wait to tell Grandma," she chuckled softly as several of the other figures in the cell began to stir. Her gazed settled on the newest member of her family limply covering the too short cot. "Is Fox okay?" she asked with sudden concern, noting what looked like a dark bruise beneath one eye and dried blood on his forehead.

"Just minor damage... nothing serious, thank God," Dana smiled faintly.

"He most definitely is not a Marine."

Jennifer Scully walked hesitantly back toward her mother-in law with the jailer. Several reams of paperwork were gripped tightly in one hand. "I can't believe we've been called down here in the middle of the night to get my one and only out of the clink for fighting in the streets!! I swear, Bill Scully, if I ever have to do this again, a street brawl will be the least of your worries." She glanced as her jailbird relatives, hardly believing they were actually her family. "I can't believe you people. You'd think at least some of you would know better." She heaved a deep sigh, and gestured with the paperwork still in her clenched fist. "You can all leave now."

Brother Bill shrugged sheepishly as he passed his little sister. One look at his wife, and he briefly entertained the notion of staying right where he was. It might be preferable to where he was going.

Margaret found herself searching the cell for another face that had been with this little party when it had left the church. She found who she was looking for sitting up against the corner of a far wall. "Walter Skinner," she admonished, hands on her hips. "You were supposed to keep them OUT of trouble and get Fox just drunk enough to get him to the dentist, not enough to get him pummeled senseless. Now what are we going to do?"

"Hey, it's still not too late," Moorehouse mumbled. "I'll just call my friend and tell him to meet us at his office. He'll wait."

"I still find it difficult to believe that a reputable dentist would be do any work this late at night, especially on someone in Fox's condition," Margaret replied suspiciously.

"Look," Jake snapped. "He's a good guy and a good dentist. I told him this was an emergency and he owes me, okay?"

"It's alright, Mom," Dana said. "If Jake says he's good, he is."

Moorehouse eyed Dana with the closest thing to gratitude that he was capable of at this particular moment in time. He didn't want to admit it, but her confidence in him really meant a lot.

Alex rose from the floor and brought Catie up with him. At least he had the good sense to bring his wife to the party, unlike poor Bill Scully. But then again, Catie always was up for a good time, which probably explained why they had three kids. "Let's get the hell out of here," he said. "This is one side of Reno that I really hadn't wanted to see." His eyes wandered over to his unconscious cousin. "Who's got dibs on Fox?"

"I'll get him," came the unexpected reply from AD Skinner. He straightened slowly and walked over to the cot, careful not to look Margaret in the eye as he passed her. She was right, he had been in charge of this little surreptitious mission and he'd let it get out of hand. But then again, things like this always seemed to happen to Mulder.

He stared down at the young man's seemingly peaceful, unconscious face.

How could one man create such havoc? Hell, he'd given up trying not to like Mulder, and he'd long ago come to respect him. Sometimes Mulder reminded him of the way he might have turned out if things had been different. He finally had to admit to himself that he cared about Mulder and decided that if he'd ever had a son or little brother, they could've done a lot worse than turn out just like him... and that revelation really scared him.

Walter bent over the cot and lifted Mulder into a fireman carry. The kilt allowed a little more intimate contact than he intended. Oops, sorry pal. No wonder Agent Scully's been grinning like a Cheshire cat, he mused lightheartedly.

The wedding party made its way out of the jail, Moorehouse thanking his lucky stars that Tony wasn't here to see him, much less any other the day shift staff. As it was, he was never gonna hear the end of it. His only saving grace would be that the department finally had an opportunity to send the Planters Brothers off to the peanut factory and out of their hair for a while.

"Moorehouse," Skinner grumbled at him as he shifted Mulder's weight, getting ready to put Mulder in the back of their limo. "I suggest you phone your friend, pronto. Mulder's not going to stay out forever, and I can practically guarantee he's going to be one unhappy camper when he wakes up."

Chapter 8 a Night to Remember

Golden Crown Dental Clinic
Reno, NV
12:15am

"Well, what have we got here, Jake? Not one of your victims, I hope."

Jake's friend looked like anything but a dentist. Short, dark, and swarthy, he looked more like someone who should be rescuing Roger Rabbit than someone you'd trust near your teeth with sharp instruments and a drill. But Jake had said this guy was the only one he'd let work on his mouth, so Dana decided not to be swayed by appearances. Besides, how many dentists would open up their offices to you at this time of night?

"Watch it," Moorehouse grumbled. "You're gonna ruin my reputation."

The dentist laughed at him. "Like you've got a reputation someone like me can ruin," he said. He looked at Mulder's lanky frame draped once again over Skinner's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Must have been one hell of a reception," he said with a chuckle, taking note of the young man's unusual attire and the concerned redhead in the wedding gown.

"I sure appreciate ya stickin' around to see him, Murray," Moorehouse said. "This was the only way we could get him here." Murray's eyebrows pulled down into a frown. "Hey, it ain't what ya think," Moorehouse said hastily. "Agent Scully over there -- uh, sorry, Mrs. Mulder -- she's a medical doc and she says he's had some kind of infection in one of his teeth for a few days, and he's been a real pain in the ass about seeing a dentist, so we all kinda kidnapped him. Think ya can fix him up?"

Dr. Murray Goldbloom fixed them all with a hesitant stare. Friends were friends, but some things just weren't done, and he'd better clarify this situation before it cost him his license. "You mean this man is here against his will?" he asked. "Jake, you ought to know that I can't treat an unconsenting patient... it's unlawful, unethical -- I could lose my license.

And worst of all, I could get sued."

"Come on, Murray," Jake argued. "Don't go friggin' nuts on me. What about next of kin? He's unconscious, his wife is here, and she gives her permission, right?" he asked, looking to Dana for confirmation.

Dana nodded her head in agreement. "Besides, we are the law," she added. "And he's," she said pointing to AD Skinner, "Assistant Director of the FBI, so don't worry about legalities, ok? Look, we're desperate. He needs to have this taken care of and I just can't think of another way to do it"

"He's that bad, huh?"

"Yes!!" Three voices rang out in unison.

Murray shook his head and pointed down the hall to an exam room on the right. "Alright, Mr. -- ah..." he questioned Walter with his eyes.

"Skinner," Walter finished for him.

"Okay, Mr. Skinner, it is," he opened the connecting door between the reception area and his treatment rooms. "Take him to the second room on your left. You can just dump him in the chair and I'll take it from there."

The good dentist leaned out of the way as the man and his burden passed by. He still wondered if he hadn't taken a wrong turn off reality. The Assistant Director of the FBI carrying a man in kilts into his office after midnight. Although he'd noticed they'd all taken this in stride, so maybe he should, too. If nothing else, it would make a good story to tell to his grandchildren someday, if that son of his and his skinny wife ever got busy and gave him any.

Murray turned back to his friend and his patient's wife. "Look, this may take a little longer than usual. My assistant went home hours ago, so make yourselves at home." He handed a clipboard to Dana full of standard medical questionnaires and releases. "Make sure you sign here," he said, pointing to the consent language.

Scully touched Murray's arm lightly. "Thank you for helping us," she said as she accepted the clipboard. "Although I'm not a dental assistant, if there's anything I can do, please, just ask."

Murray nodded in appreciation. "Well, first things first. You fill these out and I'll go take a look, take a few x-rays, and see what the problem is.

Since he's tied one on in a big way, my first choice, should I have to do anything, would be to use a local. However, depending on what I find and what needs to be done, I wouldn't want him waking up in the middle of a procedure. So if it's anything extensive, I'll probably opt for gas instead. I believe I have everything under control at the moment Mrs. .. ?"

"Mulder," Dana filled in.

"Mrs. Mulder," Murray finished with a tired smile. "So if you want to go take a seat, keep yourself busy with all this paperwork my staff has decided I can't live without, I'll let you know when I'm finished. You look like you could use a rest."

The door to the reception area closed and Scully drug herself over to the small couch and plopped down heavily next to Skinner, who was massaging a stiff shoulder. He shifted to one side to allow her more space, and she balanced the clipboard across her knees.

Moorehouse tried to stifle a huge yawn, failing miserably. "Hey kids, I gotta go to work in the morning, so I'm gonna have to beg off," he said.

Not to mention that he'd have to go in early and kiss all sorts of butt with the desk sergeant so that tonight's little escapade didn't make it all through the station. "Tell Murray I'll catch him tomorrow and that we're even. Oh, by the way, I kinda figure you guys are going to be a little under the weather tomorrow, so I'll reschedule the autopsy for 11:00 instead of 7:30 and push back Mulder's interview to 12:30. Get some rest."

"Jake??" Dana called out and watched him pause at the door. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it, kiddo," he replied gruffly as he walked out.

Dana completed patient information forms, insurance forms, consent forms, and all the rest of the paperwork on the clipboard. Funny -- she'd done this for Mulder more times than she could count, but somehow it was different this time. She was his wife, and it struck home that she was now officially responsible for him. That thought created a warm, possessive glow deep inside her. Mrs. Mulder -- she was Mrs. Mulder. And anybody who tried hurting her husband, human or not, better watch out.

She deposited the forms on the ledge next to the reception window then sat back down next to Skinner. "You don't have to stay, sir," she said.

Skinner looked down at her, at the tired, bruised look under her eyes.

Pregnancy could be hard on a woman, and he didn't want to see Scully hurt herself trying to take care of Mulder all by herself. "I don't mind," he replied. "Besides, I think you might need some help getting him back to the hotel."

Dana smiled her gratitude at him, and looked around for a way to pass the time. She hated sitting in waiting rooms. She tried reading magazines and even managed to do the crossword on the back page of one uninteresting periodical. But fatigue finally got the better of her, and she dozed off, unintentionally dropping her head on her boss's shoulder.

"Mrs. Mulder.... Mrs. Mulder!!" An urgent voice penetrated Dana's fuzzy mind. She straightened suddenly, wiped the sleep from her eyes, and looked around, a little disoriented. Oh yeah, that's me, she reminded herself with a smile.

Skinner nudged her forward and the last remnants of sleep fell away. God, she thought with embarrassment, she'd actually fallen asleep on her boss's shoulder. One look at Skinner, however, told her that any apology was unnecessary. She was beginning to see why Mulder's attitude toward him had changed for the better. Yes, he still grumbled "Skinner this" and "Skinner that," but it wasn't with the same dislike or distrust she'd heard in his voice when they'd first started working together. I guess Mulder was right... things do change.

Turning her head in the direction of the voice calling her name, Dana saw the masked figure of Dr. Goldbloom motioning to her back toward the exam room. Skinner got up from the couch and slowly followed behind her.

"What is it, Dr. Goldbloom?" she asked, worry seeping into her voice.

After all, this should be just a routine dental procedure.

"Well," he ventured. "I have good news.. .and news that I just don't understand," he paused momentarily in thought. "Do you know if your husband was ever in any kind of explosion or car accident as a child?"

"Not that I know of," she said cautiously.

Dr. Goldbloom shuffled nervously. "Well, the good news is that the tooth is unaffected. The infection stems from a foreign object imbedded in the jaw. Scar tissue and the fact that the bone actually formed around the object leads me to believe that it's been there a very long time. Perhaps during the latter stages of childhood. It's hard to tell exactly what happened, but I believe some sort of recent facial trauma had worked a piece of it into the soft tissue and caused the irritation. It took some doing, but I removed the object, intact, from his jaw. The part that I find difficult to believe, is what this thing looks like under the microscope and why it would be where I found it."

Dr. Goldbloom motioned toward the x-rays on the lighting panel and pointed out where the object was imbedded. Dana peered at the film. No wonder it had never been found before. The object's location was not readily seen unless you were specifically searching the area for problems... it was so small.

Dana followed the dentist out of the exam room and into a small lab area.

"Now, take a look at this," he said, motioning her toward a microscope.

Dana bent over the microscope, turned a distinct shade paler, and gasped.

"Ohmygod!" she cried, her words coming out in a rush. "What did they do to you, my poor Fox? What did they do?"

Skinner gently pulled her away and took a look at the slide himself. What he saw there infuriated him. A chip... A goddamn microchip. But not a chip he recognized. He wasn't sure it was even from any known technology on this world. It didn't look like metal or silicone. It appeared 'soft' - the edges wavy and indistinct, even under high-power magnification - but the electronic form was there, the schematic that made it artificial was all too real. "Shit!!" he swore.

He looked up to Scully from his hunched position with apology in his eyes.

He knew this hadn't been anything for which he'd been responsible. It had evidently happened long ago, long before Mulder had even thought of a career in the FBI. But in not doing anything about what he knew went on, did he facilitate this kind of physical and mental violation on other equally undeserving innocent people?

Wait a minute... this had happened long ago. What had the dentist said?

When Mulder was a child? Maybe at the time of his sister's abduction, or maybe even before that. It was possible that she hadn't been the only victim in Mulder's family. Cancerman and the evil figures of power that lurked forever in the untouchable shadows always did have an unhealthy obsession with Mulder. Could it be a more than professional interest? Finally, he asked with a broken voice, "What now, Scully?"

"Now?" she echoed wearily. "Now, we take him to our room and I put him to bed, love him, care for him, protect him, and hope to God whoever put that thing there doesn't come back to get it. Because if they do, they'll have one hell of a fight on their hands. I don't like to lose, sir. And I won't lose him."

"Are you going to tell him about this?" Skinner asked.

"I don't know yet. I just don't know."

Red Sands Hotel
Reno, Nevada
It was well past 2:00 a.m. when the trio finally made it to the Red Sands Hotel and the Mulders' reserved suite.

Dana had been withdrawn and conspicuously silent on the drive over and Skinner hadn't pressured her to talk. What could he say to comfort her?

What advice could he give in a situation like this? Sure, the man had a right to know what they'd found. It was his body and his fucking nightmare, had been for as long as he'd known Mulder. All Mulder ever had up to now were the vague, guilt-ridden, and unreliable recollections of a frightened and traumatized child. This chip was proof... of what, he wasn't sure. But it was proof that something strange had happened to the Mulder family two decades ago.

He'd taken some time recently to learn more about his disobedient agent.

Cancerman's unhealthy interest in Mulder had piqued his own curiosity and he'd researched Mulder's records and covertly pumped certain people for information. The picture he got was not a happy or pretty one. Something had happened that night so many years ago in Chilmark, of this Skinner was certain, something so terrifying that the young boy suppressed all memory of the incident for years. He knew of Mulder's sessions with Dr. Verber, the guilt Mulder felt at his inability to save his sister, the weight of blame heaped upon the shoulders of a boy not yet mature enough to understand his innocence.

The chip - a microchip made with technology that didn't exist today much less 20 years ago - that was tangible proof, proof not only of the fact that something decidedly sinister had occurred, but that Mulder had been just as much a victim as his sister. How would he take the reality of the truth after so many years of vague speculation and lies? Mulder had certainly had more than his share of heartache. How much could one man take?

Skinner was positive that these same thoughts bombarding Scully's mind as she tried to make a decision on what to do about the information. They were beginning a new life together... literally. He had no doubt that eventually she would tell Mulder, but would doing it now help anyone or only serve to foster anger and sorrow on what should be the happiest days of their lives? The chip was gone, and Mulder was no longer 'tagged.' Perhaps now he could get a little distance and maybe some well deserved peace... at least until the next time they decided to pay him a unwelcome visit.

Groaning under the lead weight of Mulder's body, Skinner lumbered across the room and dropped his cargo onto the waiting king size bed by the balcony window. Somehow Mulder had gained at least twenty pounds since the time Skinner had carried him into the dentist's office.

He turned to leave, but Scully caught his eye. He recognized the purposeful look of determination that turned her eyes ice blue. She reached out and deposited a small vial into the palm of his hand. "Please keep this safe for me, sir. I'll probably need it one day, but not now."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Dana sighed. "I know leaving a truth unspoken is the same as telling a lie, but I fear after everything he's been through, the truth right now could do him more harm than good. And I will not, if it is within my power, allow anything to hurt him again. Can you understand, sir?" she asked with a pleading voice.

Skinner nodded in affirmation. Maybe he didn't totally agree with her but he understood her reasoning and would respect her decision. She loved him and would protect him at all costs. Mulder would be angry when he found out, that was a given. But in the future, after many years together, and after the initial shock of her keeping this from him wore off, he'd still love her and would get over it. Mulder may be a lot of things, but he wasn't a complete and total fool.

Dana watched Skinner pocket the small vial. She knew he would keep it safe. Actually it bothered her somewhat that she'd decided not to tell Mulder about the chip just yet but they were on a case and he needed to be focused. Lord knows Mulder was distracted enough already and this new discovery would just complicate things. No, she'd wait until the case was solved and they were alone -- when his reaction, whatever it was, wouldn't interfere with his work or judgment.

Softly closing the door behind Skinner, Dana's eyes fell on the collection of ancient weapons resting on the hotel dresser and she chuckled to herself. If only she'd had the presence of mind to take pictures, she thought, remembering the look of surprise on the arresting officer's face when he attempted to remove the broadsword from Mulder and staggered backward into a wall before he could adjust to the unexpected weight of the thing.

Oh, this was one wedding night she wouldn't likely forget anytime soon, but for all the wrong reasons... at least so far anyway. Why was it that calamity always seemed to be their second shadow? She knew that one day she would look back on this night and probably laugh her ass off but right at this moment all she wanted was her husband -- and in the worst possible way.

Growling with frustration, Dana fumbled with the seemingly endless line of buttons trailing down the neck and back of her gown until she managed to unhook a space wide enough to wriggle out. She kicked her shoes off, sending them flying on a one way trip across the room to land with a thud by the bathroom door. Then while dropping her constricting undergarments to the floor in a less than tidy heap, she pulled several strategic pins from her hair and let it cascade freely to her shoulders. God!! That felt good!!!

She stared hungrily at the man on the bed... her man. I know what would feel even better. Stop it!! She shook her head vigorously. He's unconscious, she chided herself. No he's not. He's asleep. She shuffled to the bed and sat down beside him watching his eyelids twitch in normal REM sleep.

A feral smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Dana remembered the many times in the past that he'd been in a similar condition --before they'd confessed their feelings for one another. She also recalled how she'd had to undress him on several occasions, always curbing her undoctor-like curiosity by avoiding the apparently well-filled boxers like the plague, allowing her imagination to run rampant instead. On their first night together, however, she was pleased and pleasantly surprised to discover that for once the object of one of her fantasies was not done justice by her imagination.

"Well, I don't have to worry about boxers tonight, do I, Sherlock?" she purred out loud while lifting the kilt with two fingers and solving an age old question at the same time. "Nope, didn't think so."

Her hands shifted to his feet, removing first one shoe, then the other, dropping them carelessly onto the carpeted floor. Next she slowly rolled down both socks, lightly skimming the well defined calve muscles with her fingertips. He's allergic to wool she diagnosed from the red splotches covering his legs where the material had been. A distressing thought broke through and she ferverently hoped that other more essential body parts hadn't been similarly affected to any great degree.

This was an old fantasy with a new twist, she pondered with a grin. Even if he'd been wearing boxers (which he hadn't) she didn't have to stop -- which she wouldn't. All those things she had thought about doing to him then, she had a perfect right to do to him now. "One healthy dose of fantasy fulfillment coming up, Sherlock," she whispered into his ear with an affectionate smile while carefully removing the brooch and plaid. The brooch found its way to the table. The plaid was not so lucky and ended up draped haphazardly over the lampshade.

One by one the delicate silver buttons released their hold and the doublet fell open revealing yet another cloth barrier. Bending over his chest, she boldly gave in to yet another impulse and, starting with the top button, chewed through the thread, barely hearing the ricochet bouncing off the nightstand as she spat it out. Each new button given its freedom was accompanied by the sensual caress of lips and tongue on the masculine scented skin previously hidden beneath it. She felt him shiver under her as the tips of her breasts brushed the bare skin of his chest. With each kiss his body raised longingly to meet her lips and when her tongue found its way searchingly into his navel, his head fell back allowing an audible gasp to escape his lips. Knowing she could arouse him even in that twilight place between wakefulness and dreams gave Dana an intoxicating sense of power and pleasure.

The kilt was a problem but nothing that determination of purpose couldn't overcome. With just a little extra effort, she finally got the material loose enough to slide down over his narrow hips, to his ankles, and thankfully at last, off the bed.

Dana had total control and she liked it. Best of all, she knew that he trusted her completely and had often told her that anything she wanted to try was okay with him. "Well, Fox," she snickered lightly, "this is something I've always wanted to try."

A small, educated hand slowly traced its way knowingly along the inside of his thigh before cupping his heavy, dark weight in its palm. Another hand explored and stroked as he came alive under the insistent intimate kisses she showered in scecret places that she'd discovered after years of dedicated practice. Dana licked her lips and slowly slithered up his form like a hunting python. His body responded to her touch instinctively even if his consciousness wasn't totally aware of what was going on.

Sinking back down with renewed passion, she eased her enveloping heat around him once more, rocking him gently at first with a slow pendulum motion of her hips on his.

Ohohohgod, ohgodohgod. Mulder's mind reeled with confusion, full of ha lf-conscious sensations. If this is a dream, please oh please, god... don't let me wake up yet. Somewhere in all this pleasure he felt a healthy amount of pain, but it was overwhelmed by other impulses he could not yet identify with any clarity. His unreliable, intoxicated memory told him that he'd gotten drunk, not exactly a newsflash. He'd been in a fight. Or at least he thought he had. Someone sure landed a punch on his jaw.

Was he dreaming or just drunk? He was confused and uncertain of the line between fantasy and reality. Putting together the clues as best he could, his intellect deduced that he must be in the throes of an alcohol induced erotic dream. in his dream, Dana was more or less taking unfair advantage of his condition. He'd had wet dreams before but nothing as vividly realistic as this. Velvety lips sensually covered his body from head to toe, lingering with singular vengance over strategically sensitive areas, sucking, licking...driving him mad with want and fiery passion. He felt himself grow rigid and taught beneath the constant bombardment of her erotic attentions, and the blood from his brain raced southward to fulfill an ancient purpose over which, in his present mental and physical state, he had little control. He hoped that if this was a dream, he wasn't having it in too public a place, since he seemed to have lost all control over his bodily functions.

He'd always thought penises, as a rule, were unremarkable things but what she was doing to his right now certainly made this one feel special enough.

He shuddered as her wet heat descended upon him, stroking his length in ways he'd only dreamed were possible. This is a dream> How do you know, stupid? I... Shit!! If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up, but if it isn't... shit!!

Dana increased the intensity of her thrusts as she felt the pressure build within them both. "No, not yet," her voice strained against her teeth, slowing her movements into primitively sensual undulations. The sound of his whimpering reached her ears and a new wave of wet heat flowed from her to drench their joining. Her tongue traveled slowly up the center of his torso, pausing briefly to tease hard erect nipples before sliding over his exposed adam's apple, the cleft of his chin, to that full, sexy bottom lip.

Hearing the rumble building in his chest, Dana decided she needed him awake and aware when they came for ever though his body brought her the greatest sensual pleasure she'd ever known, she craved what was in his mind, heart, and soul as well. It was that part of their union that lifted her, that part that made the act more than just consummating mere animal lust.

She wanted to look into his eyes, see into his soul and know she would find herself there --- always and forever -- One.

Consciousness pulled at the edges of his mind. The sensations of his dream bombarded his brain, causing his body to react in accordance with its nature. Something pulled at his bottom lip -- hard -- then nipped it gently.

He was agonizingly aware of a hot, moist mouth covering his, devouring him, sucking the air from his lungs. A familiar pain shot through his still aching jaw and he was jolted into wakefulness.

Mulder's eyes flew open to the sight of two delightful, round breasts hovering above him. Beyond them, Dana's beautiful, enraptured face swam into view. Her cries of pleasure ignited his already overloaded senses.

Losing himself within her was becoming an overwhelming certainty.

Dana heard him growl with pleasure. Looking down into his eyes she saw the light of awareness and recognition in their heavy lidded depth, then she smiled that radiant smile that he would know was just for him.

His heart melted and he took one breast into his mouth and suckled for all he was worth. Two strong gentle hands cupped the folds of her bottom, guiding her deeper and faster in an age old dance.

His suckling mouth sent an unfamiliar, tingling charge through her breast and into her groin, causing a powerful wave of contractions to clamp down on him like a pulsating vice. A warm, sweet liquid flowed over his tongue and down his throat, temporarily gagging him when the force of his climax exploded like an atomic bomb. He heard a scream. He wasn't sure if it was her or his own voice. Maybe it was both. Lack of oxygen made him dizzy and strangely euphoric. How appropo... A faint mind voice echoed. He saw stars and then... nothing.

She rode his bucking hips with determination and screamed his name as her own body convulsed in ecstasy, collapsing across his chest in exhaustion.

Giggling softly, Dana mumbled in a breathy voice, "Who the hell needs a mechanical bull, I've got a Fox?" She turned to look into his eyes but they were closed. She called his name but he didn't respond. She shook him lightly but without results. "Oh, shit!" she cried in sudden panic. "It's our goddamn wedding night and I've killed him!" After several seconds of controlled panic, she reached for his neck and found a pulse - strong and steady - then relaxed and sighed. He's passed out. Probably a combination of drugs, booze, anesthesia, pain, and a little too much... overexertion. Oh boy, he'd never let her forget this.

A silly Scottish joke that Alex had told earlier in the evening came to mind, and she found that she couldn't resist. She took the light blue ribbon from her disheveled hair and tied it in a perfect bow around his still semi-rigid member. Settling down beside him, she pulled up the covers and fell asleep with a monumental smile on her face.

Chapter 9 Hair of the Dog -- Up Close and Personal Or 'How To Work With 2 Hours Of Sleep, a Hangover, And a Technicolor Face' Red Sands Hotel

Reno, Nevada
Sweet Jesus, what was that noise? Alarm? Alarm clock.... alarm clock???

Oh, shit!!! Mulder rolled over to smash the travel alarm with his hand and immediately regretted the action. Why did she always bring that damn thing everywhere they went? Didn't these places have people who got paid to make wake up calls? Well, this morning it probably wouldn't matter one way or the other. Ringing phone or ringing alarm clock, either one would have sounded like the 1912 Overture. The sound was still ricocheting inside his swelled head.

"Scully?" he groaned. He patted the bed next to him but came up empty.

He risked opening one eye. Yes, the bed was truly empty, and there was a good deal of sun spilling in through the partially open drapes. He must have slept in, and even more wondrous, she must have let him.

Wait a minute. The evening's events were slowly seeping back into his memory. Wedding... gambling... drinking... fight... and ... and... oh yeah, one hell of a dream? Maybe not a dream. He was a little fuzzy on that one.

He did remember passing out after what was probably the best sex he'd ever had in his life. That meant it had to be real. He certainly wouldn't dream passing out. That would be too cruel, even for his subconscious.

Well, if it hadn't been a dream, then she'd... she'd nearly... He grinned, unable to stop himself. Forgive me, Scully> If that wasn't a dream, then she'd nearly fucked him to death. He knew she hated it when he referred to their lovemaking with the "f" word, as she called it, and he had to admit that he could be pretty crude when the mood hit. But sometimes it was the only word he could think of that seemed to fit. Whatever you wanted to call it, he knew he was spoiled for life. Frohike could permanently borrow his whole damn video collection. It paled miserably when compared to the reality of the loving, passionate sex he shared with his wife. At this rate he was going to need to invest in a diligent vitamin regime just to keep up with her insatiable libido. He could do that...Moving in slow motion, trying not to aggravate all the different little collections of pain that seemed to pop up out of nowhere, he folded the sheet back from his chest and peered over to nightstand to try and figure out what time it was. That's when he saw the note stuck to the phone.

Mulder recognized Dana's handwriting on the yellow post-it. "Thank you," he whispered gratefully under his breath. At least his first interview had been moved back. He turned the paper over to read the message on the other side. "Was it real, or Memorex?" Oh, I don't know, love, he thought, you tell me. "See you later - we can go for an instant replay." Sure, sweetheart. Dig my grave now and I'll go happy. "BTW, gotcha back for the butt grafitti, but then you knew it was only a matter of time, didn't you?" Uh oh....

He looked around the room suspiciously but didn't see anything unusual.

Figuring it was safe, and feeling an insistent call of nature, he lifted the covers to get out of bed. What he saw startled him at first, but when the object came into focus he leaned his head back and laughed, purposely ignoring the pain it caused him. Staring down at the blue ribbon tied around a very conspicuous part of his anatomy, he raised a quizitive eyebrow. "Aye, I dinna know where ye been, but looks like ye won first prize," he muttered with an amused Scottish accent.

Removing the "something blue" with great care, he slowly moved himself into a slumped sitting position on the edge of the bed, groaning with the effort. Oh why oh why did he drink so much last night? He couldn't afford a hangover this morning, he had work to do. Yet he'd managed to get himself totally lit anyway. Well, if he remembered correctly, it wasn't exactly all his fault. He'd had help. Lots and lots of unsolicited help. face hurt. Neural transmitters were bouncing around in his brain like a bad game of pinball and his head was splitting like an overripe watermelon.

Amazingly enough the ache in his jaw had eased considerably, but it had been replaced by a dull soreness radiating from an undefined area beneath his left eye. He vaguely remembered taking a pounding from some prehistoric humanoid lower life form while in the process of defending Scully's honor. That more than likely explained why his ribcage felt like it'd been run through a cuisinart. Maybe he should consider letting Scully defend her own honor next time. She evidently was much better at it than he was.

Rubber legs threatened to buckle under his weight as he wobbled unsteadily into the bathroom. Nature's call answered, he stared into the mirror. He was not prepared for what stared back.

"Oh, my God," he whispered hoarsely, so stunned that he didn't realize he'd just used his wife's favorite exclamation. He ran a finger lightly over the dark purple bruise adorning his eye and cheekbone. "I can't go to work looking like the sole surviving participant of a radical bikers' brawl. I look more like a perp than the fucking law," he whined. "Who in the hell is gonna trust and confide in something that looks like ... that?!"

Mulder's reflection looked as unhappy as he felt. He turned his head from side to side, but except for a couple of scratches on his chin, it looked like his eye and cheek had taken most of the beating. Leaning in closer to his reflection, he inspected his tongue and wondered if white fuzz was normal.

It was during this last action while using his fingers to move his tongue from side to side that he noticed the stitches in his gum.

So that's what last night was all about. Goddamn underhanded dental fanatics. He'd been shanghaied. Being angry crossed his mind, but his jaw felt so much better it was difficult to stay pissed for very long. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened, but it was probably the sneakiest way someone had gotten him to do something he didn't want to do. He often wished people he cared about would stop doing things "for his own good."

A sudden attack of lightheadedness came over him, ushering in another bout of what he'd come to term as psychosomatic puking. He'd be damned if he was gonna call it morning sickness. This particular session was doubly unpleasant due in part by the ungodly hangover from the night before, causing his stomach to wretch unmercifully for several minutes. Dry heaves followed close behind as he fought his gagging reflex for control. It looked like he was going to get to know this toilet as up close and personal as the one in his own apartment. At least the porcelain was cool to the touch as he leaned his pounding head against it waiting for the nausea to slowly pass.

Pale and wasted, he finally crawled from his knees into the shower, turned on the water, and let the hot spray cover his body as he sat motionless in the tub with his back leaned up against the far wall of the shower. The cool tiles of the solid surface held him up as weary gravel-dry lids slid tiredly shut.

His eyes jerk open suddenly. How long had he stayed this way? Couldn't have been too long for the water was just beginning to turn frigid. Gotta get up, he thought wearily. The only problem was trying to convince his body to obey the messages his brain was sending it. "God, Dana, I wish you hadn't had that damn autopsy this morning. I sure could've used a little bit of inspiration here," he mumbled, hauling himself out of the tub with more effort than he cared to acknowledge.

Mulder managed to dry himself off only haphazardly, and he left a wet trail from the bathroom to the closet. At least he hoped that's where she put his clothes. He sure didn't remember unpacking.

"Oh wonderful, what's this?" Another note was tacked to the closet door.

It was demanding and succinct. 'Fox, take your medicine. It's on the dresser. Love, Dana. P.S. Meet me at the morgue and I don't suggest eating first. That was some ride last night, Mulder. I think I stayed on for the required allotted time. What's my reward? Yippee-aye-o-ky-a !! ' "Reward?? I'll give her a reward. What am I, fucking livestock?? Oh I feel soooo used," he chuckled facetiously. "Wait till I show her my spurs."

Mulder wandered over to the dresser and obediently popped an ampicillin and several aspirin then finished getting dressed. Might as well get on with it, he thought as the door shut behind him.

Leaving the hotel was hell. Why couldn't life have a glare and volume control? It was bad enough that the neon lights and noise of the casino blared at him inside, but outside the day was sunny and bright without even a hint of the clouds and rain of yesterday.

On a hunch, he'd decided to exit the Red Sands through the alleyway where the latest victim had died. He didn't know what he was looking for, but that wasn't unusual. It was all just fodder for his brain, something for him to look at again and again, to worry over until the details began to make sense.

The alleyway was bright. He squinted up at the clear blue sky, remembering that he was in a desert after all, and at a pretty high altitude. The air was clear here and sunlight glared off the concrete, turning up his headache a notch or two. He peered around the alley, noting the employee entrance door, the outline of the body still visible on the concrete. Overhead a neon sign crackled and buzzed as more of the sign seemed to be burning out.

Mulder paced up and down the alley twice. From time to time he would stop and look at something, but he finally had to admit that his headache was interfering with his concentration. They'd have to come back here when his head was clearer. Putting on his sunglasses helped some, but did little to alleviate the street noise symphony playing in his head. He'd have to wait until he met Scully to get cotton for his overly sensitive ears. Or better yet, maybe he could just stuff his ears with the cotton that appeared to be in his mouth. Hey, he was a believer in recycling.

City Morgue

11:30 a.m.
Reno, NV
"Well, whadda ya think, Red? You have any enlightening observations on this guy that nobody else's noted?" Moorehouse raised an eyebrow and blew out a puff of air from between his yellow teeth. Morgues weren't exactly his favorite place to visit, especially after a late breakfast, but he'd seen enough of them and enough of their occupants in various degrees of decay and decomposition to not be too bothered by it.

Dana glanced up from the body of the latest victim but didn't respond. M oorehouse was just getting antsy and she knew it. Five murders - well, maybe murders - would make any cop antsy. She knew him well enough to realize that he'd rather be out busting heads than waiting around for her to finish her work.

Jake grunted at her lack of response. This wasn't exactly a situation where no news was good news. He took the toothpick he'd been rolling around in his mouth and nonchalantly flicked it to the floor.

The sudden movement drew Dana's gaze from the corpse yet again. Her eyes tracked the wet sliver of wood as it flew through the air and caught in crack of the tiles. Well, at least he'd stopped picking his teeth, she sighed with exaggerated annoyance. "Jake, would you please pick that up if it's not too much trouble? This is still a lab and labs need to be as sterile as possible." She tried not to sound condescending but sometimes she thought Jake purposely tried to annoy her just to see how far he could go without making her lose her cool with him. Childish... yet so like someone else she knew and loved.

Moorehouse feigned a put upon look, bent over and retrieved the discarded item from the floor, wiping it off vigorously on his pantleg. Glancing at her to make sure he had Dr. Scully's full and undivided attention, he stuck it back in his mouth. If the action had grossed her out, she didn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know it, and his estimation of the woman went up another notch. Yessiree, the kid was gonna be hard pressed to get anything past this dame. He hoped Mulder was up to the challenge. But then he'd survived three years with her already and didn't look any worse for wear. In fact, they always seemed to function better when the were together... even if they did disagree more than any two people he'd ever met. Jakes eyes wandered to her bulging midsection and smiled. Well, they must have agreed about something, that much was obvious.

Dana noticed his gaze, but she'd be damned if she was going to let it get to her. "And just what are you grinning at, Detective Moorehouse?" she quipped lightly.

"Ah... nothin'," he lied, turning back toward the door as it cracked open.

Halleluja, saved by the door, he thought with relief as Mulder walked into the room. Then again, perhaps "walked" wasn't quite an accurate description. The word "walk" suggested alert coordination and what this kid was doing didn't qualify in either category. Jake made a quick revision to his earlier "not worse for wear" observation and wondered with unbridled curiosity what Red had done to the poor kid last night to make him look like she had the wrong guy on the slab. In his opinion, Mulder'd better not hang around here in one position very long or somebody might toe tag him and plant him six feet under.

He knew he should just let it go, but hell, he couldn't help himself. He had to say it. "Hey, kid, what happened? Looks like you got rode hard and put away wet!"

This remark got an unexpected chuckle from Scully and a mock glare from Fox, who turned several shades of crimson. "You don't know the half of it," he muttered weakly as he stumbled over to Dana, looked over her shoulders into a vivisected body cavity. His face turned from a crimson blush to a pasty gray which rapidly became an odd shade of green and he wasted no time rushing to the sink to heave.

"Hey, hey! You can't do that in here!" Jake yelled with just a hint of amusement. "Puke ain't sterile. She's gonna kick your ass now, wonder boy.

You just messed up her sterile field, although I think these guys don't gotta worry too much about germs this late in the game."

This time Dana glared in earnest and Jake feared he may have pushed too far. He never did know when to quit.

Dana quickly finished with the body and snapped her gloves off before making her way to the sink and Mulder. One hand rested softly on his back between his shoulder blades while the other brushed his wayward hair back from his face. "You okay?" she inquired with concern lacing her tones.

"Yeah, I'm just peachy," he coughed with just a smidgin of sarcastic embarrassment.

"You need to eat," she observed, noting that nothing much had actually come up when his stomach had convulsed. "That morning thing again?" she asked in a whisper.

"No" he croaked out his little lie.

"No to eating or no the morning thing?"

"No to both. It's just a hangover," he hedged. "And you are both to blame for it. And as for food?? God, Dana, you want me to eat so I can blow bigger and better chunks?"

She gave him that "don't be a baby" look that he hated and proceeded with a overly simplified explanation of the obvious. "If you replenish your blood sugar levels, the headache should improve and the nausea abate. You will eat something. I need you coherent, so do your witnesses."

He straightened up from the sink and she peered closely at his face.

"Mulder, that's one hell of a shiner." She took her finger and glided it over the swollen area then rubbed her forefinger and thumb together in surprise.

"Fox, have you been using my makeup?" she asked, eyes gleaming wickedly with mischief.

"Ah... hey, I was just trying to make it a little less frightening to the people who are going to have to look at me today. That's all," he grumbled.

"Better watch him, Red," Jake snorted. "Next thing you know crotchless panties will be disappearing from your underwear drawers."

Mulder turned toward Moorehouse with a serious expression. "Damn straight on the 'crotchless' panties, Jake," he replied smugly. "There's no way I'd ever be able to stuff all of me into a thong. Of course, Dana's always welcome to try... over and over and over an..."

The sound of his voice was cut off by the slamming of the door as she propelled him out the door and down the hallway. Jake emerged several seconds later still trying to wipe the tears from his eyes. Jesus, he hoped nobody saw him and got the wrong impression.

He shook his head as he followed them down the hall. Man, sometimes those two were just too fuckin' much. The hall was deserted, and they took advantage of that fact. Mulder's arm slipped around her disappearing waistline while her left hand dropped to tweak his butt in a motion so swift that Jake nearly missed it. Evidently this kind of interaction had been going on for quite some time, and he was amazed that none of those specially trained "elite" investigators the Bureau liked to brag about had picked up on it. Then again, at least one of them had, he corrected himself.

The damn Assistant Director of the FBI, of all people, had shown up at the wedding in spite of the problems it would cause him if anyone had known.

Jake decided that AD Skinner was in a class by himself and didn't count.

He liked the big, bald ex-Marine, but as far as he was concerned, the rest of the Bureau Bureaucrats could eat shit and die. The Mulders effectively shot to hell the outmoded belief that involved partners couldn't work together efficiently. Mulder and Scully were about the best team he'd ever seen and in his time, he'd seen plenty.

Admitting that he actually admired a couple of Fibbies was a shock to his ever so delicate system, but nothin' that a greasy cheeseburger and bottle of ice cold beer couldn't remedy. By the looks of the two honeymooners in front of him, joining them for lunch was probably out of the question.

Detective Moorehouse belched loudly and pondered an important executive decision -- George's Sports Bar or Mcdonalds? Tough decision.

The beer sounded good but he was on duty. Guess it was Mickey Dees... A gain.

Mulder practically stumbled into the bright sunlight propelled by two small forceful hands on the small of his back.

"Hey, take it easy," he complained in a hoarse whisper. The sudden glare attacked his eyes and he covered them with one hand, squinting in pain as he blindly fumbled in his coat pocket for his elusive sunglasses. "Aaagh!!"

Mulder managed a pitiful groan as Dana led him to the passenger side of the dark nondescript blue Taurus waiting for them at the curb. Fuck, just once he'd like to go to pick up his car and find maybe a Lamborghini or even a Mustang convertible... candy apple red.... yeah.

"Mulder?" Dana eyed him critically. In the light of day, the love of her life looked a little too thin, too tired, too pale, and seemed just a bit unsteady on his feet. The black eye poorly hidden under her makeup didn't help to promote the appearance of robust health either. If she ever needed graphic evidence that she and Mulder just didn't have the same skin tone, this was it. A sudden pang of guilt crept over her as she thought of the workout she'd given him this morning even though she'd known what condition he'd been in. Damn, she couldn't help it that he was so blasted adorable. Seeing him sprawled helpless on the bed had just brought back too many old memories of unfulfilled desires and any chance of prudent self denial had flown out the window. Now look at him. He was paying dearly for her lack of willpower.

"What? Dana?" Mulder waved his hand in front of her face several times before she responded. Oh, this is just dandy. She's zoning out and here I was hoping that at least one of us could remain coherent. "Fox, you look like shit," she finally informed him in a strangely subdued voice.

"I wish people would stop telling me that," he said bluntly. "I'm beginning to get a complex," he resisted her attempt to direct him to the passenger seat by turning abruptly to go around the front of the car. Dana, however, stepped into his path, blocking him with her body. Placing both hands firmly against his chest, she stated flatly," I'm driving, Sherlock."

Mulder knew that stubborn stance. Though he admitted to himself that he actually loved that little nuance, he was getting tired of being babied and goddamn it, he wanted to drive. He didn't have to explain himself. It was a male thing, the last vestige of male chauvinistic thinking he allowed himself to keep.

Gently but firmly, Mulder lifted his tiny bride from the ground before him then set her down on her dangling feet to one side as he brushed past her to the other side of the car. Sometimes she was so damn pushy.

Dana's jaw dropped in shock. She couldn't believe he'd actually stooped to this totally infantile macho show of strength to try and get his way. Oh no, you don't, pal.

Mulder made the mistake of looking at her from over the top of the car as he grasped the door handle. She wasn't yelling at him. In fact, she wasn't doing anything at all -- just standing on the sidewalk with her hands on her hips, seething. This was not good. No sir, Mulder, this was not good at all.

Better get used to Alpo bud, since by the look of things, you've earned yourself a one way trip to the dog house tonight if you don't roll over and beg for mercy.

"Fox Ian Mulder," Dana fumed. "You get behind that wheel and I guarantee you will regret it," she warned.

God, he hated it when she used his full name in that tone of voice. His hand paused on the doorhandle. Indecision took over and his resolved faltered.

Dana was not one to make idle threats and he wasn't up to taking the risk right now that she was blowing smoke up his ass. He also hated the thought of her being angry with him. it just fucked up his whole day when she was pissed at him and she knew it.

Reluctantly removing his hand from the handle, he placed his palms flat on the roof of the car and leaned across the top, fixing her with what he hoped was his best pleading expression. "Ah, come on, 'Little Bit,'" he coaxed.

"When are you going to let me drive?"

Dana's mouth curled up slightly at one corner. "When you cease to look like shit."

"Bossy broad," he muttered crankily.

"You've been hanging around Jake too much lately. You're beginning to sound like some grade B Sam Spade movie. Next thing I know you'll be calling me a dame and asking for a cup o' joe."

Mulder reluctantly ambled back around the car and lowered himself into the passenger seat under heavy protest. It wasn't until after they'd traveled several blocks that he broke the silence.

"Well, Shweedhard," Fox drawled in his best Bogie imitation. "You the copper with the goods on the stiff?"

Dana turned her head, refusing to smile just yet. Let him squirm. "Are you referring to the results of my autopsy on subject #41174-C?"

"If that's the guy with the polyester wardrobe, toe tag, and pasty complexion -- yeah."

Dana frowned slightly as she pulled into the drive-thru line at a local fast food restaurant. "I've listed the official cause of death as a mechanical malfunction of the victim's pacemaker."

"But?" he prodded insistently. He knew from the set of her shoulders that there was more to it than malfunctioning equipment and a body that had been forced to process a half century's worth of greasy fast food sludge.

Speaking of greasy fast food sludge... "By the way, tell them to leave the meat off my burgers," he interjected quietly.

"Oh, they're going to love you for that, Mulder," she groaned. She rolled down the window and spent the next several minutes trying to get the attendant at the other end of the mike to understand that while she did want three hamburgers, it was ok to leave the beef off two of them. She glanced at Mulder's thin frame and decided to add a chocolate milkshake to his order.

"What kind of malfunctions?" he persisted as they moved forward slowly in line. Dana shifted uncomfortably and tried to think of a way to explain what she'd found in a manner that would preclude Mulder's tendency to jump to conclusions and go off on improbable tangents. "It would seem that Mr. Harris's pacemaker overheated just a tad," she replied haltingly.

"So his coronary was caused by an electrical malfunction?" Mulder asked.

His voice held a note of disappointment that he tried unsuccessfully to conceal.

Dana didn't quite meet his piercing eyes. "Not exactly," she began slowly.

This wasn't going to be easy. She had yet to formulate any viable scientific explanation for her findings that could shoot down any of the far fetched theories she was sure that Mulder would undoubtably propose.

She finally risked a glance in his direction. Oh that's just great!! she mused. He'd cocked his head to one side and employed the questioning "his master's voice" expression that he used whenever he felt she wasn't being forthcoming with her information.

"What do you mean 'not exactly' ? Either it was or it wasn't," his voice cracked with exasperation. Her reticence to discuss her findings proved to him that she'd made some sort of discovery during her investigation that defied logical scientific explanation and she was trying to think of a rational method pf presenting the information without giving him a springboard for jumping into a pool of unconventional theories.

There were occasions when a psychology degree from Oxford actually did come in handy... like when trying to understand a spouse. Okay. So they were as rare a white buffalo but once in a blue moon it could happen, he teased himself into believing.

Fine. She'd just present the facts in a clear, concise, factual manner and sit by patiently while he reduced all the available input into some totally illogical, off the wall premise that only the warped mind of a killer would comprehend. In other words, business as usual. She chuckled out loud and the unexpected sound took Mulder by surprise. He faced her with that startled look he usually reserved for unexpected confrontations with demons, ghosts, and Skinner in a good mood. It reminded her of that time her mother accidentally walked in on him in the bathroom. She caught herself from laughing even louder. Unaware at the time that she and Mulder were already more than close, her mother, being suitably impressed, had dropped rather obvious hints that she thought Fox would make somebody a wonderful husband someday. Margaret was not one for subtlety.

"What did you find?" he asked impatiently. "And what's so funny?"

"Death is never funny," she replied solemnly, trying to bring her own slightly skewed sense of humor back under control. "It's just that I know you're going to find some weird phenomena involved in this and right now I don't have any explanation to offer that will bring you back to earth. This is right up your alley, Mulder. I was just a little amused that sometimes I imagine seeing all these little wheels just turning and spinning inside that head of yours and I get this incredible urge to look for a monkey wrench to throw in there just to see what happens."

"Remind me never to let you fix my car -- provided I ever get around to getting one. Please, Dana dearest, .just tell me what the hell you found, ok?" He was achey, nauseous, and most definitely not in the best of moods and she was driving him to distraction with her uncharacteristic beating around the bush.

"My, my, just a tad cranky today aren't we?" she teased relentlessly.

"Oh, I don't know why that would be..." he thought about letting loose with a list of complaints as long as his arm but something in her smile stopped him in his tracks. The rodeo he'd competed in this morning more than made up for all the little aches, pains, and frustrations he'd endured since. Realistically, he had no acceptable reason for being in such a foul mood, although... He suppressed a moan as a new thought struck him maybe he was getting her misplaced PMS. God couldn't be that cruel, could he?

"Alright," he finally said in what he hoped was a reasonable tone. "Tell me what we've got here and I promise you I won't go off the deep end... at least not right away."

"Well, I guess that's as close to a compromise as I'm going to get, huh?"

"I promise to consider all the logical, boring, obvious, and largely circumstantial evidence presented before coming to the correct, though unconventional conclusions that I'm sure are just lurking beneath the surface," Mulder recited blandly, then sighed in exasperation. "Alright already come on, Scully. Give!!"

Dana was granted a short reprieve when they pulled up to the service window. She handed the attendant her money, startling him with her request for a receipt - if she had to work on her honeymoon, she was damn well getting reimbursed for lunch - and passed the food over to Mulder. He made a face at the burgers, even without the meat, choosing to start in on his milkshake instead. Dana took a bite of her burger and moved out into traffic. She chewed thoughtfully, remaining silent for several moments.

"Mr. Harris's pacemaker was... melted," she finally said. There it was. She still found it difficult to believe what she'd seen even with her own eyes.

"Melted?" Mulder echoed. "And you call that just a tad overheated?"

"Ok, so I downplayed it a bit," she admitted. "Can you blame me?" He just grinned at her. He loved her "little girl caught doing something she shouldn't have" look. "It's just so damn weird," she muttered. "I found metal from the pacemaker fused into the heart muscle. Not just overheated, damn it. *Fused*. Melted. An ordinary pacemaker just doesn't have a power source that could generate that kind of heat." Stopping at a red light, she took another bite of her burger, washing it down with a sip of her soda.

"Maybe it wasn't an ordinary pacemaker," Mulder quizzed hopefully.

"But that's not the only thing," she added quickly. "There was a high concentration of neon gas *within* the surrounding tissue."

"Neon?" Mulder frowned as the vaguest hint of an idea bubbled in his brain, but his headache was still interfering with his thought processes.

Maybe a little more food would help. He grabbed one of his meatless burgers from the bag and took a bite. " Gee, what a coincidence," he muttered distractedly. "Any idea how it got there?"

He was doing his damnedest to be logical but already his thoughts were traveling down untraversed avenues and his 'promise' to Dana was wearing thin. Boy, how long could he last before he strayed from the road and took a hike in a forest of unproven and largely unpopular ideas. Why did he find it nearly impossible to stay on the fine line of scientific certainty? Because, Mulder ol' boy, nothing in this universe is certain a small voice scolded him. An unyielding, stagnant, universe that ceased to adapt and change would soon cease to exist at all. Something is not impossible simply because we don't understand it. So...he'd given her logical, scientific method all the time and consideration it was due. So he'd promised he'd consider any logical explanations. He did not, however, promise that he'd accept any of them at face value.

Dana noticed the characteristic vacant look on her partner's face and sighed loudly enough to regain his somewhat fickle attention. "No, at this particular moment in time, I haven't the foggiest notion how it got there or exactly where it came from," she replied. "Mulder, melted pacemaker aside, this is the strangest aspect of my findings. How much do you know about neon?"

"Aside from the fact that without it, Las Vegas would be a pretty dull place?" He shrugged, trying to dredge up long-forgotten facts he learned in high school science. "It's one of the noble gases, existing in the air around us. And you know krypton, besides being Superman's home planet, is also a noble gas."

Dana rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, neon exists in the air around us, about one part per 65,000. But the neon gas in Mr. Harris's body was nearly pure." She took another bite of burger. "It shouldn't have been there, Mulder. I only found it because it was infused into the tissue along with the metal. Air shouldn't even have been there, much less neon. Neon is separated from air by lowering the temperature until the air liquefies, then raising the temperature until the gases boil off. The boiling point for neon is -246 degrees Celcius."

"But you said Mr. Harris's pacemaker was melted," Mulder pointed out.

"Exactly. So we have evidence of both extreme heat and extreme cold at the same time in the same tissue. It doesn't make sense."

"Unless the neon was there for a different reason," he mused.

She turned to look at him. "What are you thinking?" Something about this whole case bothered Mulder. They'd been through enough together that she recognized the customary restlessness that commonly accompanied another trip through the unusual and into the bizarrre.

"I'm not sure what I'm thinking yet," Mulder mused. But I think we'd better tell Moorehouse that Mr. Harris was murdered."

That did it. It had to happen. Dana felt it coming and the little scrap of information she'd given him was just enough to set him off. Fox's eyes glowed with a familiar excited gleam. He was hooked and she knew he wouldn't rest until he had an answer and stopped a killer. It didn't matter that the answer he'd find would in all probability not be accepted or even believed. They'd call him 'spooky' or worse, laugh in his face, and slam him behind his back. Yet she knew he'd suffer their barbs and snide remarks in quiet humility, knowing that in stopping a killer, he'd preserved life and in doing so validated his beliefs and vindicated himself.

As for her? She'd support and defend him as always. Mulder wasn't the easiest man to understand but he was honest, just, passionate, and compassionate to a fault. What other agents thought was of little importance. Besides, it was usually only the ladder-climbing wannabes who gave him grief, not the people who really counted.

Mulder picked up his cell and punched in a number from memory.

Speaking around the last few bites of his burgerless Big Burger he grimaced as a wayward, ketchup-laden tomato slid from between the sesame seed buns and into his lap with a slurping splat. "Shit!" he muttered while dabbing at the crimson splotch with a somewhat droopy napkin.

"And it's nice talking to you too, Mulder," Jake's gruff and annoyed voice answered.

Chapter 10

Silver Star Casino

Reno, Nevada
"Okay, we're here," Dana said rather abruptly as Mulder put his cell phone back in his coat pocket. From the part of the conversation she'd heard, Moorehouse wasn't too pleased to hear Mulder's theory that Mr. Harris was murdered, even though the who, how, and why were still a mystery.

"But why are we here? All Moorehouse told me was that we had an appointment at the Silver Star at noon."

"We're here to meet with Mr. Salvatore Saladino, chief of Security. 'Why' is a longshot possibility that might pay off," he said as she pulled the car up to valet parking. He got out of the car as she handed the car key to an all-too-young looking valet. "All the murders took place between two and four in the morning and in the general vicinity of the Red Sands, the El Dorado, and the Riverboat, not to mention the Silver Star," he continued.

"The victims each had items on their person that suggested they'd been gambling just prior to being killed. Yes, I know that's really big news," he added facetiously after seeing her feigned look of exaggerated surprise.

"Mulder, half the people in this area probably have items on their person that suggest they've been gambling," she said in exasperation. "Especially those in the vicinity of casinos in the wee hours of the morning."

"Ah, yes, but these people had been winning, and winning big. I doubt that's something most gamblers could say, especially in the wee hours of the morning," he grinned at her, his hand automatically finding the small of her back as she walked next to him. "Anyway, I spoke with Mr. Saladino, Mr. Cerusico, security director at the Riverboat, and Mr. Dorian, security director at the El Dorado, yesterday and they all agreed to assist us with the investigation anyway they could. Apparently having their patrons killed off is bad for business. I asked them if they could provide security videos for the dates and times I requested and they were only too happy to comply. We'll start here and work our way through all their security videos.

With any luck maybe one of their cameras could have picked up the victims and maybe even a killer."

Dana stepped in front of Mulder, leading the way through the revolving doors into the casino. Mulder followed the scent of her perfume, knowing that even if he couldn't see her, he would still be able to find her wherever she went. In fact, she was probably going to have to stop wearing that stuff to work, he thought raggedly. Its affect on him was entirely too stimulating.

Once inside the hotel Dana paused, realizing that Mulder had purposely failed to mention someone. "What about the Red Sand's security chief?" she asked pointedly. There had to be a reason Fox hadn't included him with the others.

Mulder shrugged. "I've had a difficult time catching up with the elusive Mr. Simons. I don't know, Scully. Think he's trying to avoid us?"

Dana pursed her lips like she'd tasted something sour, then pushed the up button on the elevator. "I just can't imagine anyone not wanting to see us.

I'll try to nail him down to an appontment after we're through here. Maybe he just doesn't understand how important his assistance could be."

Mulder flashed her a devilish grin. "Oh, there's no need to do that. I managed to convince the man that it was in his best interest to accommodate us."

"Pray tell, how did you manage that?" she asked with a hint of suspicion tinging her words.

Mulder chuckled softly. "Would you believe I used my innate charm and well-honed powers of persuasion to sway him?"

Dana glanced up at her impish partner and tried desperately to keep the laughter in her eyes from spilling out from between her lips. She knew this man. She often thought that she knew him better than he knew himself and she had a pretty good idea, given Mulder's creative sense of justice, what type of persuasion her other half had employed. "You casually mentioned the remote but plausible possibility of an unexpected audit by the IRS," she stated.

"Ah, come on, Dana, you're no fun," Mulder muttered, his eyes focusing forlornly at the fleur de lis pattern on the carpet. He'd figured he'd pout a little until they reached Saladino's office at the end of the hall. The Pound Puppy look was always useful to invoke a little extra attention and he wasn't above using it whenever the opportunity arose. Sure, Dana Katherine knew when he was doing it, she always had, but it didn't matter.

He always got the desired results anyway, just like she did with that damn quivering bottom lip of hers. "Alas," he lamented, "you know me too well.

And now that I've lost all my mystery, you'll be leaving me for someone infinitely more intriguing."

Dana linked her pinky finger in his and gave it a cursary tug. "That'll be the day. Do you think for one minute that after all the time and effort I've spent breaking you in that I'd actually give someone else the opportunity to benefit from all my hard work, just because you've become a little more predictable? I don't think so! Face it hon, you're stuck with me."

"I'm predictable?" he asked genuinely surprised. He'd been accused of many things over his lifetime, but predictability had never been one of them.

"Yes." She smirked. "Predictably unpredictable."

"Oh." Mulder accepted her light-hearted jibe and nodded his head in reluctant agreement as they reached a solid oak office door with the words "Casino Security" etched on its brass nameplate.

"Why are we here -- really?" Dana asked, ultimately unable to deny her curiosity. "The local P.D. already has copies of the security videos. What exactly are you looking for?"

"Scully, I honestly don't know but hopefully I'll know what it is when I find it," Mulder said, opening the door. "I just want to see the originals, maybe get a feel for how these things work, and the lay of the land so to speak. I need to talk with the men who are responsible for the security of their employers and patrons. If anyone..." he trailed off quietly, interrupted by the sight of a busty blonde in a very short, very, very, tight-fitting red dress sitting behind a clear glass table. A computer screen and keyboard sat on a small desk to her right, along with a telephone, but there was nothing on the table itself to obscure his view. Even as he acknowledged that the effect was probably planned to distract visitors, Mulder's eyes couldn't help dipping instinctively, taking in an ample expanse of generously exposed cleavage. He felt a twinge of carnal lust flair briefly, dying unheeded as quickly as it had begun but not before Dana noticed his wandering eyes.

What is it with this town? Mulder wondered to himself with exasperation.

He'd never seen so many well-formed women in one place since the porno raid on the Odessey Club. Maybe it was a prerequisite for women living here. I can see the job applications now -- name, age, address, cup size... Christ, how was he going to stay out of trouble when every time he turned around, a huge set of knockers were staring him in the face? It wasn't like he was going out of his way to look. He wasn't, and he really didn't mean to gawk, but sometimes it was just plain unavoidable. Even now he knew he was in deep shit with Dana by the way her posture stiffened when he'd finally regained enough of his composure to talk to the woman.

"Uh, Agent Fox Mulder, FBI, and this is my partner, Agent Dana Scully," he said in what he hoped was a level voice. He reached around and pulled Dana forward to stand by his side. "We have an appointment with Mr. Saladino."

"Sure, hon," the woman said, popping her gum once as she picked up the phone and pressed the intercom button. "Hey, Sal. Two Feds are out here to see you. They say they have an appointment."

"Oh, yeah," a slightly annoyed disembodied voice replied, clearly audible through the receiver. "I forgot. Tell them to take a seat and I'll get to them when I'm finished with my, ah, business meeting."

Miss Double Bubble opened her big red cartoon lips to repeat the message, but Mulder interrupted her. "We heard," he commented dryly while taking a seat next to Scully.

Unfortunately, the seat Mulder chose gave him a clear view of the receptionist, although probably anywhere he sat would have given him just as good a view. He cleared his throat noisily, concentrating his gaze on the toes of his shoes, the painting on the wall behind her desk, anywhere else but on the bimbo sitting directly in his line of sight. No doubt aware of the effect she had on the male of the species, she suggestively crossed and uncrossed her legs at regular intervals.

Why was she doing this to him? He wasn't interested, not really. The only woman he wanted was sitting right there in the room beside him on the couch, which was probably why this blatant flirtation was so damn embarrassing. Mulder, you're a dog, he thought guiltily. Men are dogs. He loved his wife and would never do anything about the come on he was getting -- so why did this woman bother him so much? You're a psychologist... figure it out.

"Mulder?" Dana gently nudged his shoulder. She knew he'd noticed the receptionist. Hell, it would be hard not to. She also knew that he wasn't above looking -- most men weren't. In fact, since they'd arrived in this place she could almost swear his head was on a swivel. The thing that really bothered her was that they almost always looked back, and this one in particular was becoming annoying. Bad enough she was trying to fit most of a size 9 body into a size 5 dress, but that Sharon Stone thing she was doing with her legs was a bit over the top. Mr Saladino better get in here soon or she just might have to resort to some unprofessional tactics.

"Huh?" Mulder sputtered, painfully aware that he'd been staring. The heat rose to his face and he felt like a heel when he realized Dana had caught him looking, and guilt immediately put him on the defensive. So, he liked watching. What was so awful about that? It didn't mean he wanted what he was seeing, he rationalized. He just liked looking.

Yeah, right. Looking was one thing, but it's really in bad taste to do it with the person you love sitting right next to you, he berated himself. What if she took it as a slap in the face, you idiot? Nobody turned him on like his Dana. No one ever could. He just found the variety of scenery -- well, interesting -- and his curiosity often got the better of him. They'd have to talk about this later before she got the wrong idea and he ended up on the couch, or worse.

"Are you feeling ok?" she asked, barely able to hide a smirk. The look of apology in his eyes confirmed for her that he believed he was in trouble.

Good. Maybe she could use it to her advantage at some later date. It was odd but she really didn't feel all that threatened by any of these women. She trusted Fox and felt his love for her in every breath, look, and touch... even in this. Somehow she knew that although he might look, she was secure in the knowledge that he would never follow through with anything else.

Nope, definitely not threatened, just annoyed that other women would have the gall to flirt with him right in front of her.

"Um, yeah, I'm fine," he blushed furiously. "Dana, I'm..." Oh, good god, was he ever going to be able to finish a lousy sentence? The inner office door opened, successfully detouring his train of thought as a scantily clad, long-legged brunette slinking across the room rerouted his gaze. She conspicuously adjusted her skirt. Curling her lips into a seductive smile, she lightly brushed his shoulder before leaving the room. This was very confusing. He'd never got this much attention when he was single, at least if he had, he hadn't been aware of it.

Mulder glanced up slowly when Mr. Saladino charged into the room.

Turning his face toward Dana, he tried to hide a grin, rolling his eyes upward with an expression that clearly said "I don't believe this. Is this guy for real?" He couldn't help the feeling that he was Elliot Ness and had just been dropped into a Twilight Zone, Ted Turner colorized version of Public Enemy Number One. Good old Sal looked like he'd been caught in a 30's time warp, right down to his pin-strip suit. If there ever was a gangster stereotype, he was their poster boy. And I'm supposed to take him seriously?

Noticing the mischief playing about her husband's eyes, Dana immediately shot him the look. The one she knew he would interpret as "behave yourself or I'm sending you to your room without desert." That should take care of any off hand remarks, she thought. Fox just lived for "desert."

It didn't take an Oxford degree to comprehend her message. Mulder bit down on the urge to voice his observations, putting the brakes on his somewhat caustic humor. He was getting a little better at ignoring his impulses.

Sal studied the two agents with thinly veiled suspicion. Dealing with Feds wasn't exactly in his field of expertise. Their presence in his office was disconcerting and uncomfortable at best. Not that he'd been engaging in any illegal activities or anything like that, but he sure as hell wished his cousin Vinnie was here to field any leading or misleading questions. Vinnie was a slimeball of the highest magnitude, but he was also the best lawyer the family had produced in two generations.

So... the Feds were here to view his tapes and ask questions about how his security system worked, huh? Well, best get on with it. He didn't trust cops, especially the Federal Fuzz. This was just gonna be the highlight of his day. Damn. He just wished he knew the real reason the FBI decided to camp out on his doorstep.

Mulder stood and politely offered his hand in greeting, a gesture that Sal ignored. "I'm Agent Mulder and this is my..."

"I know who you are," Sal broke in. "Now all I wanna know is why in the hell you're here. I already gave the local guys copies of my security tapes, so cut the pretentious bullshit and clue me in on your ulterior motives."

Scully stood her ground and glared. She'd dealt with hostility before, but this guy was just plain rude.

Mulder, on the other hand, smiled with guarded amusement, much to the security chief's obvious surprise. He couldn't blame the man for his apprehension. Hell, it was with some irony that Mulder acknowledged the fact that he didn't trust his employer any more than Sal trusted him.

Speaking softly at first with an almost inappropriate, treacherous calm, Mulder addressed the gangster once more. Yes, he was sure that this guy belonged to an "extended" family, but right now that wasn't a major concern. "Mr. Saladino, I have no hidden agendas," Mulder said, his voice gradually increasing in volume and his tone gathering in heated passion.

"What you do in the back room behind the gaming tables and red velvet curtains is your business."

Saladino drew in a breath, no doubt all set to deny that they even had a back room, but Mulder cut him off. "My business is to find out why five people are dead and who or what killed them before it happens again.

That's all."

Mulder paused to see if the man was buying it. If he was reading him right, he thought he was. "Now as I was saying to my partner before you came in and interrupted me," Mulder continued, "just watching video copies isn't going to help me. I could sit in a screening room and watch these damn things all day and still not know what in the hell I was looking at. I'm a novice gambler at best. I got my first taste of the gaming tables just last night, so I need an expert's advice. Since I'm fairly certain that your employers wouldn't tolerate ineptness in someone who oversees the protection of their property, I would assume you'd be the man to see. Can I expect your assistance and cooperation in this matter or not?"

Dana held her breath. This was not the tone of voice to use when addressing someone with obviously major criminal affiliations. Oh god, it wasn't bad enough that her lunatic husband alienated himself from the government that employed him along with various and sundry secret and black ops organizations. Now it seemed he was hell bent on pissing off organized crime as well. Shit, Mulder, what am I going to do with you? Dana grasped Mulder's sleeve and tugged gently. "Mulder, the man doesn't want to help us and we can't make him. Come on, let's go."

"No!" came the stubborn reply. "Not until he gives me an answer."

Sal looked up at the young man towering above him and attempted his well-honed art of intimidation by staring him down. In his line of business this ability was occasionally a life-saving necessity. However, Sal was not quite prepared for the cool, piercing, hazel eyes that relentlessly stared back with an unyielding force as solid and cold as tempered steel.

Dana watched in total disbelief as two grown men stood toe to toe, each refusing to back down. The testosterone levels in the room were enough to make her head swim. This was ludicrous. Her feet hurt, her back ached almost as much as her head, and the pressure on her bladder was reaching major proportions. Enough is enough. I'm not going to pee in my pants while these two try and solve the mystery of who's got the bigger dick.

Besides, I already know the answer to that one. Dana snorted out loud then moved quickly to step between them. "Mr. Saladino, back off," she ordered in a tone that shocked even her.

Before Mulder had a chance to react, she turned and fixed him with the same threatening stare. "And you, Fox William Mulder," she growled, "need to cool off." She looked back and forth between the two of them.

"Gentlemen?" she asked, daring either of them to revert to schoolyard behavior.

Saladino marveled at the apparent ease with which this fiery redhead gave orders and the equally effortless way her otherwise stubborn partner gave in to them. Perhaps he'd made a snap judgment here. Maybe they were on the level after all. One thing was for certain, though. He had no doubt in his mind that these two were married.

Oh, yeah, they'd put up a good front, all professional like, but he'd caught that sudden look of panic on the guy's face when she'd rounded on him.

He'd seen it too many times on the male faces of friends and family -- that "oh shit" look that only a spouse could induce, the one that could bring his gorilla brother Guido to his knees even when half the Scarpelli's hit men couldn't.

Still, deciding to trust a Fed was a tough call, and he knew that if he was wrong about these two, he'd pay dearly for his lapse in judgment. Although any man with balls enough to hold his own with Salvatore Saladino, in his opinion, deserved the benefit of a doubt. Not too many men had been able to do that, fewer still who were still alive. Those who stood up to him and survived earned his respect, and besides, he had a feeling that there wasn't too much that this ornery bastard actually feared. That fact alone deserved respect. Too bad he was a damn cop.

Sal made a decision and hoped it was the right one. After all, this Agent had cut him some slack by letting him know that Sal's little side operation going on in the private room downstairs wasn't quite as secret as Sal thought. It might have been just a lucky guess, but Sal hadn't survived this long by taking chances. This would give him an opportunity to relocate a particularly lucrative business before the Fed felt obligated to report the little infraction.

"Okay," Sal nodded with a slight grin. "Why don't you tell me what you want from me?"

Dana did a double-take. This was not the reaction she'd expected. In fact, she had been bracing herself for the possibility of being forcibly removed from the premises, but somehow her partner had done it again. How he always managed to instinctively know what tact to employ when he wanted something from someone was a mystery to her, not to mention how someone so empathetic could then turn around and rub so many people the wrong way. She often suspected that he knew exactly what he was doing and purposely pushed all the wrong buttons just to keep people at a distance. Lucky for him, she was never one to go with first impressions or accept superficiality.

"I need you to look at each section of video where a known victim appears and explain to me exactly what he's doing," Mulder replied. "If you see or hear anything that may be out of the ordinary -- anything unusual or out of place -- I need you to tell me. You, sir, would be more likely to detect any abnormalities than I would."

Sal nodded once, then turned on his heel and headed for the door. "In that case, Agent Mulder," he grumbled over his shoulder, "I suggest you and your partner follow me. I have a business to run and I haven't got all day to watch movies and babysit the FBI. It'd be bad for my reputation."

Unknown Location

Smoldering gray ashes floated haphazardly onto the dingy, blue-green carpeting of the dark little room. Small brown scortch marks from years of careless disregard scattered throughout the tread-worn covering like some bizarre version of an ink blot test -- a test whose patterns would perhaps be the only surviving witness to the malevolent evil and insidious decisions made in secrecy and in the name of the greater good. Perhaps someday someone would be able to interpret these patterns into something meaningful but for now... for now they waited in muted testament, unable to reveal the truth.

"Do you have the information?" the man asked casually while taking a slow drag off his ever-present Morley.

The tall, gnaunt, nearly skeletal apparition flung a new file folder down on the desk top. He sneared as an overflowing ashtray became an instant casualty, sending a new cloud of powdered ash billowing into the already polluted air.

"We have a problem," a thin, tinny voice announced rather belligerently.

"What kind of problem?" the heavy-jowled man hissed between his yellow teeth and puffs of smoke. After all these years, he was finally beginning to detest all this obtuse bullshit. Why couldn't this asshole just get to the point?

One long, bony finger darted through the smoke trails to tap impatiently on top of the file. "Satellite photos of the area at the time in question revealed the presence of only one vehicle within a five mile radius of the crash site.

Does the license plate 'Genius 1' ring any bells?"

The smoker raised a questioning eyebrow. "Should it?"

The man in black took satisfaction in knowing he possessed information that this smug, fat, smoking slug didn't. "Let me enlightened you then," he whispered, drawing out each word slowly, carefully savoring each syllable. "It was registered to Scott Simons. Oh, what a coincidence!" the voice mocked sarcastically. "He just happens to be one of our very own research scientists -- who just happens to be on a forced extended leave of absence. How wonderfully convenient."

"I'll send someone to pick him up," he said, shifting uneasily beneath an icy corpse-like glare of hollowed, emotionless eyes. He knew that that the offer was too little, too late.

"That won't be necessary," the shadow figure replied with a tone becoming gravelly with anger. "We had already scrambled our operatives to retrieve Dr. Simons before I came here. The results of that mission, however, are at this point somewhat inconclusive. Dr. Simons has not returned to his or his parent's home. He's obviously made himself scarce. When we locate him and I have no doubts that we will -- you had better pray to whatever deity you believe in that the prototype is with him."

The smoker stood, grinding out his cigarette in the ashtray. Pushing himself up from his desk with stubby fingertips, he leaned in closer to his unwelcome guest. "I hope that wasn't a threat," he seethed. "A threat to me could be construed as a threat to powerful people whom I represent, and I can guarantee that such a move on your part would be -- shall we say, unwise?"

His retort was greeted with silence. It wasn't until his visitor slipped into the darkness and out of his door that he finally allowed himself to relax enough to light up a new Morley. He didn't like this turn of events. No, he didn't like it at all. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain the upper hand in such a totally unpredictable situation.

Things were getting out of his control and above all else, the most important things in his life had always been power and control. His footing with his colleagues had become tenuous in the last few years due mainly to another thorn in his side... Fox Mulder. A quick and favorable solution to this untidy mess was paramount. And knowing Agent Mulder was snooping around in the immediate vicinity did little to ease his mind. The man was too close for comfort. He'd tried to contact AD Skinner to have the troublesome agent and his partner recalled to D.C., but was given an unexpected message that Skinner had called out sick and was unavailable.

Skinner never called out sick.

He sighed around the butt of his cigarette. This was just not his week.

Red Sands Hotel
Parking Garage

4:00 p.m.

"Well that was an enlightening educational experience if ever I had one," Mulder snickered, still trying to process all the information he'd gathered over the last few hours. "Who'd have known there'd be so many different ways to cheat?" He shook his head slowly in disbelief as they headed toward the elevator. "And that each of our victims was adept in at least one of them," he added with a certain amount of irony.

After leaving the colorful, no doubt well-connected Mr. Saladino, they'd spent time with the heads of security at the El Dorado and Riverboat casinos. Between all three places, they'd seen each of the victims on film, each busy cheating the house. No wonder the victims had left the Red Sands winners. If they were cheating at other casinos, it was a sure bet they were cheating at the Red Sands as well.

Dana looked puzzled. "What I don't understand is if security knew that these guys were cheating, why didn't they stop them or toss them out on their unethical behinds?"

"Maybe they didn't catch it the first time around," he guessed. "According to Mr. Cerusico, these guys were really good at what they did and from watching the videos, I'd tend to agree."

"But what would cheating have to do with anything? Their indiscretions weren't discovered until after they were murdered, so we can rule out an over-zealous security guard. There wouldn't have been any motive except maybe robbery, and we can also rule that out since each was found with their winnings intact."

Mulder looked at her with surprise. "It's relevant because it adds to the other list of things that these men had in common. All the victims so far have been men, all had been gambling, all had gambling paraphernalia in their possession at the time of death, all had been alone, all had frequented all the casinos in this area, each one had been at the Red Sands in the early morning hours, they'd all won big time yet they hadn't been robbed, each one always left whatever casino they were visiting at the security shift change, and each one was an expert cheater and hadn't been caught." He took a deep breath after ticking off the points on his fingers.

"Ok, so we seem to have developed a victim profile," she admitted. "But we still don't know how that connects them with a killer, much less how they were killed."

"God, Dana, I don't know," Mulder sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe Mr. Simons might shed some light on this since the Red Sands was the last casino each of the victims visited before he died. Every little bit helps and we don't have much else to go on. So far no witnesses have come forward and no one's been able to identify the screaming woman from the last murder scene."

Dana took her very tired and discouraged partner by the hand and led him into the Red Sands lobby and into a nearby elevator. "Maybe the cameras here caught something," she said, trying to instill a little hope into their investigation. "Or Mr. Simons could arrange for us to interview the employees who went off shift at the time of the murder. I know Moorehouse and his partner already did that, but we might be able to spot something they missed. Since the man was found not twenty feet from an employee exit, it at least would be a good place to start." She stared up as he looked down and their eyes met in understanding and compassionate support.

Alone with his new bride in an otherwise deserted elevator, Mulder slowly and gently molded his large graceful hands around her waist, lifting her at least a foot off the ground before softly caressing her mouth in a sensually inspiring kiss, one he knew he would have to leave unfinished since what he had in mind would definitely take longer than the ride in an elevator.

"I've been wanting to do that all day," he said in a whispered moan.

Flicking her tongue on the tip of his nose, she chuckled softly. "I know, I've been waiting for you to break protocol and give in, but I have to admit -- I didn't think it would be in an elevator." She deftly pulled his bottom lip into her mouth, then smiled as an inarticulate groan escaped from his mouth and into hers.

He was just getting into the spirit of things when the elevator chime announced their floor. The doors slid open just as Dana slid down his long, achingly sexually deprived frame. It was a good thing he had on loose fitting trousers and a jacket that did some discreet camouflage.

"This isn't exactly the honeymoon I'd had in mind," he gasped quietly into her ear as a young couple and half a dozen noisy children flooded their space, momentarily hindering their departure.

Dana grasped his hand, stroking the soft spot between his thumb and forefinger with her thumb, feeling his body shudder and his knees buckle.

Then spotting an opening in the crowd, she led him out into the hallway.

Walking slowly by her side, the beginnings of a grimace perched itself on his lips while he unsuccessfully tried to mask a slight limp. She was not playing fair, he decided with dismay just as a tiny hand pulled him to a sudden stop. He looked down questioningly into her innocently smiling face with something that fell somewhere between pain and pleasure drawing his mouth into a thin, tightly controlled line.

"Are you okay? Did you get a cramp in your foot?" she asked sweetly.

God, she was teasing him mercilessly and she knew it. Dana Katherine Scully had never been a tease before but this was such fun and he was so...receptive. Face it Dana, you just never really wanted to tease anyone quite like this before -- not even Jack. She was playing with fire here and it was exciting, especially since she knew that 'Dana Mulder' would ulimately be the one to quench the flames.

Mulder raised one confused eyebrow. "You know damn well that I didn't get a cramp," he muttered hoarsely in mock annoyance. A wolfish grin crept over his features and he pulled her toward him. "But if you come closer, little girl, I will show you what I do have for you."

Dana inhaled sharply, wondering if she'd pushed him just a little too far, considering that they were standing in the middle of a public hallway in broad view of just about anyone who decided to walk out of their room.

Pausing for effect, Mulder decided that two could play this game. "You and I both know that if you keep this up," he teased, his eyes sparkling as he chanced a quick downward glance at himself, "Mr. Simons will be waiting for us in his office for a very long time," he edged himself forward and pressed her back firmly yet gently against the wall. "You know me, Dana. I'm not above doing it in the closet," he panted throatily as she followed his gaze to the door that was clearly marked 'Janitor.' "Or even in an elevator," he continued, purposefully glancing over his shoulder to the heavy metal doors several feet away before returning his undivided attention to nibbling on her earlobe and nuzzling the sensitive area of her neck just below her jawline. Soft, sensuous lips expertly sent shivers down Dana's spine and she tensed with anticipation. The man should come with a warning label, her mind noted lovingly. She felt light headed and incredibly warm.

He pressed his hips into her, increasing the pressure to drive the point home as he continued, "I could have even done it in the airport terminal when you clearly were asking for it," he whispered. "But there just wasn't time to do it right... and there still isn't," he sighed with regret just as another hoard of tourists pushed their way through the now open elevator doors.

"Later," he promised with a low growl that matched the desire in his eyes as a lingering finger drew a feathery line across her breast on its way down to his side. "Time to pay Mr. Simons a visit."

Unseen eyes observed the interaction in the hallway and followed the two beings as they came closer and closer to the center of its world. In the midst of a chaotic sea of undisciplined and unrestrained thoughts, a refreshing mind of organized, efficient intelligence shown like a blinding beacon of light. It searched for the source, finding even in the alienness of the being, a strange yet compelling familiarity that it did not recognize in its present point of reference... the being called 'scott.' It perceived the other coming closer still and could no longer resist the urge to touch and be known. The Scott being, though intelligent for this species, was not capable of receiving information. But the new being was.

It sensed the other's capability to retrieve, file, and store unerringly that which it perceived. This was rare. It also felt belonging and kinship and without hesitation reached out to claim its rightful bond.

Chapter 11 Feedback

Red Sands Casino
Reno, Nevada
Mulder raised his hand to knock on the office door but found himself clutching at his head instead. Nausea roiled in the pit of his stomach as a bout of dizziness dropped him to the floor. His head felt like it was about to split open.

"Mulder!!" Scully cried out. On the floor beside him, she frantically felt for a pulse while checking his breathing. His eyes were open but to her horror, they were vacant and unseeing. Her initial examination placed his pulse somewhere around 200, while his breaths came in shallow labored gasps. The sudden onslaught of the attack -- whatever it was -- caught her completely by surprise and it was several moments before she reached for her phone to dial 911. She had just pressed the '9' on her phone when a strong hand restrained her movements.

"I'm okay," Mulder managed to rasp. Dana lowered her gaze and caressed his face, a face that had gone from pale to flushed within a matter of seconds. He still appeared disoriented and out of focus but adamantly refused to let her call for help.

"Fox, you're far from okay," Dana argued. "Nobody, but nobody, collapses like that without a reason. I'm worried, all right? I have no intention of collecting your inheritance any sooner than I absolutely have to, so will you please get checked out?"

Mulder sat quietly for several seconds and took a deep breath. "It wasn't physical," he tried to explain.

"What in the hell do you mean, it wasn't physical? I witnessed you go tachy on me and you say 'it wasn't physical'?" She wasn't in the mood for his metaphysical, far out theories, especially when it pertained to his health and well being.

"They were in my head again," he replied in an almost inaudible whisper.

"Just like when Sam disappeared." His voice grew anxious and a look of remembered fear flooded his features. "Oh God, Dana. They're here...they're here," he mumbled repeatedly. "No, no, no. I won't let them take you, they can't have my family, goddamn bastards, I won't let you..." he babbled in near panic, his voice growing in volume, before the pain came back and he passed out in her arms.

Scott Simons heard the commotion outside his door. He was expecting two FBI agents any minute and was nervous enough already. This was not the time for some drunks to duke it out in the hallway.

He certainly didn't expect what he saw when he opened his office door.

Instead of belligerent drunks, a young woman sat on the floor, cradling an unconscious man in her arms. Scott knelt down beside them. "What the hell happened?" he asked, his brows drawn down in concern.

"I'm not exactly sure," she replied worriedly. "Please, can you help me get him inside?"

With the help of the woman, Scott laboriously hauled the now semi-conscious man to his feet. He then threw one limp arm over his own left shoulder, tightly grasping the young man's wrist in an effort to secure the unsteady upper body weight. That done, Scott reached around the man's back and grabbed his belt as he partly dragged, partly carried him into his office and slowly deposited him on the small couch in the waiting room. The woman sat down next to him, smoothing the hair back from his face and checking his eyes, now open but unfocused.

"Mr. Simons?" the woman asked, turning her attention to Scott. He nodded in reply. She flashed an identification badge at him. "Agent Dana Scully, FBI. This is my partner, Fox Mulder. I'm sorry we had to meet this way." She turned her attention back to her partner, taking hold of his wrist to check his pulse.

Jesus!! Scott exclaimed silently. He'd been expecting a visit from the FBI but this wasn't exactly how he envisioned the meeting would take place. He had a very bad feeling about this.

It had made a serious error. The amount of concentrated mental energy necessary for its attempts to communicate with the Scott being was unnecessary with this one. It had inadvertently caused the new being pain, and in the process had also unintentionally triggered a deep memory response that oddly enough seemed vaguely familiar. However, it had been damaged and could not access the required reference material.

If it could have felt frustration, it most certainly would have. It needed guidance, needed to find its way home. Instead, it found only the mass of cold, electronic circuitry in which it had been placed. It had searched for a mind capable of two-way communication, capable of connecting with it as it was meant to do. The fragile yet compatible intelligence with which it was now communing was the closest it had found in this strange place.

The machine to which it was connected deemed these small lives insignificant. The Scott being was indifferent to those like himself. But this new one was different. The very essence of this being held a deep conviction that all life, no matter how small or different -- or alien -- was sacred. Conflict --- confusion -- reevaluation of its purpose was indicated.

It reluctantly dissolved contact with the new being, save for a small connecting thread. It reentered the lonely void of the machine to attempt to interpret and comprehend this new input from the being who thought of himself as Mulder.

Scott watched intently while the redhead crouched by the reclining figure on the couch and expertly took his vitals. "I'm a doctor," she responded to his inquiring gaze.

Her touch was light, knowing, and sure as she loosened her partner's tie and unfastened several shirt buttons. The man's eyes had closed again, and Scott saw her briefly caress the side of his face affectionately with her hand. Scott got the impression that she'd done this last intimate action on a regular basis and not just in a medical context either. He filed this information away for future reference.

Scott stayed out of her way, forcing himself to stand still and not pace. The last thing he needed was for a Fed to bite the big one on his office couch. If something serious happened to this guy in his office, his low key anonymity was shot to hell and he might as well start packing. "Is he going to be okay?" he finally asked. "Should I call someone?"

"No! I said I'm a doctor," she snapped with an annoyance born of fear.

Thick lashes fluttered as heavy lids battled the involuntary impulse to remain closed. She called his name and finally, Agent Mulder slowly and deliberately opened his uncooperative eyes, blinked, and attempted to focus on the face hovering above him. "What happened?" he asked groggily while trying to sit up. Two small hands firmly pushed him back down into the cushions.

"Just stay where you are for a few minutes and rest," she ordered.

"Rest?? What the hell happened, Scully?"

Scott could practically see the wheels turning in Agent Mulder's head. He'd had that same look a few times himself, only they were usually brought on after a few too many drinks the night before. He wasn't an expert, but since working at the Red Sands he'd seen more than his share of drunks on a bender. He'd be willing to bet Agent Mulder was sober. And he had a strange feeling in his gut that he knew exactly what was responsible for the agent's condition. Drinking hadn't been the only thing that had made him look that way.

Oh hell, what had he done this time? Hurriedly Mulder went over events in his mind -- well the ones he could remember, anyway. His perfect memory was shot full of holes at the moment and failing him miserably. The last thing that he could recall with any clarity was knocking on Scott Simons' door and getting a searing pain in his head. After that things got a little blurry and he just couldn't seem to nail anything down except for a vague sense of deja vu' terror.

Ignoring Dana's very vocal protests, Mulder sat up with an effort and gently pushed away her restraining hands. "Come on, Scully, I'm fine. Give me a break, huh? So I'm no teenager anymore and it takes a little longer for me to snap back after I get knocked down."

Whoa!! Maybe sitting up wasn't such a good idea. He still felt dizzy, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let her know about it. She'd have him stuck in some goddamn clinic making deposits of his bodily fluids for the rest of the day. Besides, he had this strange feeling that whatever was affecting him was more on a mental plane than a physical one.

He didn't know how he could tell -- maybe it was some instinct that dated back to caveman days -- but he felt the presence of some outside influence being directed at him. But he wasn't going to tell her about that either. Not yet. Not until he could figure out what in the hell was going on and certainly not until he had some concrete evidence that he could offer her as proof. He had nearly convinced himself that Dana believed she'd married a certifiably insane kook and far be it for him to give her confirmation that maybe she was right.

"I knew I should have convinced them to take you to the hospital last night," Dana fretted. "You could be walking around here with a concussion."

"Look, Scully, I told you that I'm okay. Whatever it was, it's gone now and I Feel Fine," he stated, accentuating each word.

Scott saw his chance and jumped to what he took to be an old ongoing argument. "That is quite a bruise you've got there, Agent Mulder," he commented, making a point to stare at the man's face with exaggerated concern. Perhaps if he played his cards right, he could get out of this meeting without answering too many difficult questions. After all, he was a genius, wasn't he? He'd managed to stay one step ahead of the people he used to work for, so he should be able to think circles around a couple of lowly FBI agents. After all, the art of misdirection was his forte'. "Head trauma is nothing to fool around with," Scott continued, "I've got some time available on my calendar tomorrow if you'd like to reschedule this meeting, give you a chance to recover a bit." And give me a chance to be elsewhere and unavailable.

Dana smiled in appreciation at her new, unexpected ally.

Mulder untangled his long legs, stood up slowly and readjusted his clothing. "I'm touched by your concern, Dr. Simons," he said. "However, postponing this meeting is unnecessary. Since I'm already here, why don't we view your videos now? I'm sure I'll only have a few questions."

Mulder had been around long enough to know when someone was trying to get rid of him. Maybe if he hadn't gotten the brush off so many times in the past, he might have missed Simons' skillful ploy. As it was, Mulder was just as expert in spotting misdirection as Simons was at executing it.

So then why was this guy so reluctant to assist them? Mulder got the distinct impression that Simons, however courteous he appeared to be, did not want them snooping around, a fact that rankled his ever present curiosity no end. The man was hiding something. Whether or not it pertained to the case didn't matter. Mulder hated people who weren't honest with him, and when that dishonesty interfered with a case, he could be one relentless son of a bitch.

Dana caught the inflection of obstinance and determination in her partner's voice. Inwardly she sighed, resigned to a lengthy visit.

Even as he smiled and showed them into his office, Scott felt his stomach churn and twist in knots. Agent Mulder had called him ' Dr. ' Simons, a fact he hadn't bothered to mention. That could only mean that this agent had done his homework and was a force to be dealt with very carefully.

Scott fidgeted nervously. Well, if the guy was hell bent on staying, maybe he could distract him. Scott decided to make another attempt at seeming to be the caring host. "Can I get you something?" he asked, trying to divert Mulder's attention.

Mulder eyed him suspiciously. "Yeah, sure...how about this month's issue of Celebrity Skin and a bag of sunflower seeds. I ran out," he muttered sardonically.

Smartass> So much for getting a run of the mill Federal paper pusher, Scott thought with more than just a little anxiety. "Sorry, can't help you with that, I must have forgotten to renew my subscription and I haven't eaten bird seed since 5th grade."

"Pity," Mulder retorted, "I always thought you executive types went in for educational' materials and health foods," he added, getting in what he decided would be the last word.' "Now that we're finally through with discussing reading habits and food choices...can we please run through these videos?"

As he put the first surveillance video into his office VCR, Simons took another closer look at the tall, thin male agent. Now that he was awake and fully aware, the light of knowledge and intelligence that emanated from the man seemed to envelope him like a fucking halo. Scott sat behind his desk, trying to present a picture of calm and authority. Not Agent Mulder. He began to pace, moving gracefully around the room, reminding Scott of a stalking panther. His movements were quick yet sure as he fired off the expected standard questions. He stopped to stare at the video, asking more elementary questions -- the idiotic questions of someone who doesn't know what they're looking for. Scott began to relax. Maybe he'd overestimated the man.

Then suddenly, without warning, Mulder's inquiries became rather complicated and at one point, even bizarre. They were questions that normal investigators would never think to ask. The local cops hadn't, but Agent Mulder did. The piercing hazel eyes stared right through him as if they could reach into his soul and Scott found himself on the verge of panic. What he was being asked hit too close to home and Scott felt a coil of fear squeezing around his heart. A sudden burst of insight led to an even more disturbing revelation. Scott realized this man could think circles around him -- that had never happened before. If he got through this, he'd have to do a little research of his own to see just what he was up against.

Just as quickly as the interview had started, it ended, leaving Scott unbalanced and unsure. Mulder purposely left him hanging and occupied himself by watching the security videos over and over again without further comment. Something about them bothered him. Something he couldn't yet put his finger on.

Two hours later, Mulder headed toward the door, Scully following him.

Scott felt positively exhausted and rattled.

"Thank you for your time and patience, Dr. Simons," Mulder said while politely offering his hand. "I hope this hasn't been too much of an inconvenience for you," he opened the door, then turned back toward Scott. "Oh, and by the way," he added,"I may still have a few more questions for you, so if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you'd make yourself available should I need to get in touch with you in the future."

Scott reached in his pocket for a business card but Mulder raised his hand and shook his head no. "That won't be necessary, Dr. Simons. I have photographic memory and I always seem to lose business cards anyway.

Have a nice evening."

Photographic memory, too? Oh Christ, Scott old boy, looks like your luck just ran out. "God, I'm glad that's over with," Scott sighed after he'd closed the door. For now, a small voice echoed in the back of his mind.

He'll be back. You know he won't let go of this.

Scott crossed the room and dropped heavily into his office chair, and was shocked by the loud crunching sound at the moment of impact. "What the hell?!?" Lifting up, he reached under himself and pulled out a large bag of 'David's sunflower seeds and a current but rumpled edition of "Celebrity Skin." "Seeds?" he muttered out loud. "How'd these things get here?" they hadn't been there a moment ago, and he knew the two agents had never gone near his desk. Then he remembered. He'd asked Agent Mulder if there was anything he could get him, and he could almost hear the agent's annoyed reply: "'How about this month's issue of Celebrity Skin and a bag of sunflower seeds... I ran out."

"Oh Shit. NO!!" Scott cringed as soon as the word slipped out of his mouth, but no offending odor assaulted his sense of smell and no unwanted brown piles appeared in his office. As absurd as it might seem, this was not a good sign.

Frantically he logged into his terminal and checked his system's programming. Everything seemed to be working properly -- well, as properly as could be expected seeing that he wasn't exactly certain in this case what "properly" was. Something was different though. His discovery seemed to be ignoring him. "Cold beer in a mug," he said. Nothing.

Although the system still appeared to be executing its directives as far as the machinery would allow, it no longer seemed content to cater to his whims.

Scott fell back in his chair, dumbfounded. What the hell had happened?

One thing was for certain -- he was no longer in control. You were fooling yourself, Scotty. You never really had control over this thing. Telling it what to do and actually get it to do what he wanted had been shaky at best, and now it was gone, and along with it any clout or leverage he might have had. Now he'd probably end up dead when the bastards he took this wonder from found him. Oh God, you're in over your head on this one Mr. Fucking Genius.

Wait a minute. If his little buddy here had deserted him, it must have attached itself to someone else. Scott glanced at the sunflower seeds and the skin mag. He didn't have to have three guesses as to who that special someone might be. He even had a good idea of when it had happened.

Scott suddenly felt vulnerable. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out his handgun. Its weight reassured him a little. Now was as good a time as any for him to start carrying. He tucked the gun into his belt at the small of his back, thankful that the loose cut of his suit coat hid any tell-tale bulge. With the brains of his security system suddenly on the side of the FBI, things might be a little hairy around here. A momentary attack of conscience hit him, and he wondered if he should warn the guy what to expect. But the attack didn't last long. A gleam of sweet revenge lit his eyes as Scott decided to let the smartass find out on his own.

Red Sands Hotel
Reno, Nevada
6:30 p.m.

Dana had to run to catch up with her partner who was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed that he'd practically jogged down the hallway. "Mulder! Will you please slow down? Some of us... you know... are carrying around... an extra person!" she gasped, trying to catch her breath.

Mulder looked down at the red-haired beauty by his side. He had to grin at that one. She was technically right and he was sorry he hadn't thought to moderate his stride to accommodate her.

Color was high on her cheeks, her suit jacket was unbuttoned, and he got a clear look at her belly. A belly with the beginning of a bulge where his child lay inside her. Christ, she was showing! Was she supposed to be this big this early? Then again, it could be that she was just so damn small any amount of bulge automatically jumped out and demanded recognition. That was it. That had to be it.

"Sorry," he finally mumbled. "I keep forgetting how short those beautiful, wonderfully sexy legs of yours are," he paused and became serious. "He's lying, Dana. He's hiding something. I don't think he's directly responsible for the murders, but I do believe he's got an idea of what's going on and either is scared to tell us or doesn't believe he should." Mulder paused and stared at the wall, but Dana knew he was seeing something else in his mind.

"Then there's something about those damn videos that keeps bugging me," he continued, "It's right there and I can't see it. Shit!"

Mulder rubbed his forehead, frowning. Dana reached up to cover his hand with her own. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he responded. "It's just... I know this is going to sound weird, but I don't know exactly how else to explain it. My brain itches."

"What??" Jesus, he's lost it this time. "Mulder, brains do not itch." she tried to explain patiently.

"Maybe not, but it's the closest thing I can come up with to explain how it feels. Have you ever been under a high tension wire and you can almost feel the buzz, like little insects crawling all over your skin? It kinda feels like that."

"Mulder," she sighed. "I've always known you've had bats in your belfry but I would have never anticipated 'bugs in your brain.' If this keeps up, you will go to the hospital and get it checked out. That's an order." She frowned at him, waiting for the inevitable argument, but for once it wasn't forthcoming. She relented. "Are you in pain?" she asked, knowing he probably wouldn't tell her even if he was.

"No, it's just damn annoying, that's all," he replied. "The only headpain I've got at the moment is a little farther down and can't be cured with aspirin," he added with a husky growl.

"Oh, is that right?" She found herself taking him by the elbow and shoving him into the elevator. "It is now six thirty, and I would deem an emergency after hours house call in order. I prescribe..." She pulled him down to her level and whispered into his ear. He forgot all about congratulating himself for successfully distracting her as his eyes grew wide and dark. He was certain that his temperature rose at least five degrees in a matter of seconds.

"And after we've relieved the pressure, it might be necessary to..." she whispered in his other ear. "In fact a moderate distraction might be just the thing you need to help you figure out what bothers you about those damn security videos and you could..." she purred into his open mouth suggesting a course of action that made his knees quiver.

"Aahhhh," the moan escaped his lips before he realized he was making it.

The doors to the elevator slid open but he wasn't sure if he could move let alone walk to their room. All of a sudden the fact that their room was at the other end of the hall seemed damned inconvenient. At this rate he might possibly have to get down on his hands and knees and crawl to their door.

It always amazed him that she could do this to him with so little effort.

"You'll pay for this, Dana," he snarled playfully.

"I'm counting on it," she answered with a current of velvet coating her voice.

Several minutes later -- several long, uncomfortable minutes later - Mulder found himself at their door. He forced himself not to touch her yet, because if he did, he knew he would lose all self-control. Dana unlocked the door, stepped inside, then turned and grabbed his belt, forcefully pulling him into her domain. The door closed behind him and locked with a telltale click.

Red Sands Hotel
Room # 1013

Walter Skinner had bid farewell to Margaret and her family, as well as Mulder's unusual collection of kith and kin, earlier this morning.

"Unusual?" Boy, was that the understatement of the decade, he chuckled to himself.

Since he'd called in sick, there was no pressing need to rush back to D.C.

He had booked a return flight that would have him in the air for most of the night and back at his desk by 9 in the morning. Any after-effects of spending the night on a plane could be written off to his "illness." So he'd spent the day at nearby Lake Tahoe, enjoying the calm beauty of the mountain lake, the clear air, and the snow. Snow in D.C. meant headaches, but here it seemed soothing somehow. When he'd returned to the hotel, he tried his luck at a few games and even managed to come out ahead. All in all, it had been a rather pleasant day and he made a mental note to do something like this more often, preferably with company next time.

He'd avoided it as long as possible but the urge finally became too great.

Slipping off his shoes, Walter sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the phone. When had he become such a creature of habit? he thought idly as he pressed the numbers to his home phone and then the ID code to his answering machine.

Beep. "DC Cleaners here. Your dry cleaning is ready for pickup."

Beep. "'Hi, this is your hard working secretary. Don't forget to fill out your DPS Form 202 for sick pay if you expect any monetary reimbursement for staying home and goofing off."

Walter's head jerked up in recognition as the voice droned on.

"...it would be advantageous to all concerned if you'd take it upon yourself to remove Agents Mulder and Scully from their present case assignment and recall them to D.C. Their present course of action could prove inconvenient and ultimately detrimental -- to everyone concerned."

Beep

"Damn that Black Lung Bastard," Skinner grumbled into the handset.

Whatever Mulder had managed to stumble into this time, it must be serious. The man's voice had the same smooth, infuriating tone it always did, but Skinner could sense the urgency behind the message. Otherwise, why would his caller leave evidence of such a thinly veiled threat? Skinner wondered if the tape, much less his machine, would still be intact by the time he returned home.

Skinner disconnected the call, then placed a call to the airline, canceling his flight reservation. Whatever it was, Skinner had a foreboding feeling that his occasionally troublesome subordinate might need some extra backup on this one. Not that he didn't believe that Scully couldn't do her job. It was more likely that Mulder probably wouldn't let her do it effectively. Mulder did have an annoying little habit of going it alone when he felt another's involvement would endanger them unnecessarily, especially when that other person was Scully. Mulder would always put her safety first, regardless of her insistence that she could take care of herself. And knowing what he did about Scully's condition, Skinner knew Mulder would keep her safe at all costs.

Damn it, he hated being in the dark. Most of the last fifteen years had been spent skirting the edges of what the powers that be had wanted him to know. Lately he'd grown tired of the unending frustration of trying to do an honest job while working for dishonest, corrupt, and sometimes diabolical assholes. They often made him feel guilty and dirty. Helping Mulder, even though it usually wasn't in his best interests, always seemed to redeem his belief in himself and made him feel clean again.

He hated being a puppet, even if he was an unwilling one. But if it wasn't him, it would be someone else -- perhaps someone with less of a conscience who wouldn't hesitate to stab Mulder in the back and twist the knife just to watch him suffer. No, as much as he hated some of the things he had been forced to do, he would not give up his position and leave his people to face the wolves alone.

Well, it seemed like he'd be spending a little extra time watching Scully and Mulder's behinds once more. Hopefully, he could do it discretely without calling attention to himself. No sense alarming them if he didn't have to.

Lord knows, they were paranoid enough already. So much for his short lived uneventful case of the "Federal Blue Flu."

Rolling over onto his bed, Skinner willed himself to take a nap. Keeping up with Mulder was not any easy task at the best of times. Trying to do so without his knowledge would undoubtably be a Dante' version of hell.

Red Sands Hotel
Reno, Nevada
Mulder had just dropped into a light sleep when the phone rang. He heard the water running in the shower - so he wasn't the only one who worked up a sweat, eh? The phone rang again and he picked it up without opening his eyes.

"Front desk, Mr. Mulder. We have a delivery for you that needs your signature."

"Delivery?" He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. A glance at the travel alarm clock told him it was 8:30 p.m. "Who makes deliveries at this time of night?" he wondered aloud.

"I'm sorry, sir. He won't give me his name."

Mulder heard talking in the background and smiled. He should have known they wouldn't use Federal Express. "Tell him I'll be right down," he said, hanging up the phone.

He got up and padded over to the bathroom. He could hear Dana singing softly to herself, could see her form behind the steamy shower door. "I have to go down and pick up something at the front desk," he told her, stepping into his jeans. "I'll be right back," he grabbed his shirt, slipped into his shoes, and was out the door before she could ask him any questions.

By the time he got back to the room, Dana was wrapped in an oversized towel, sitting on the bed brushing her hair. "What was that all about?" she asked.

"I had to go sign for this," Mulder replied, holding a manilla envelope. He sat down on the bed next to her and gave her a kiss, then opened the envelope and spread the contents across the bed. He found the report he wanted. Putting on his reading glasses, he propped a pillow behind his back and leaned back to read.

Dana looked at the remaining papers on the bed. Copies of the autopsy reports from the first four victims. Another paper looked like a detailed analysis of a gaming chip, of all things. What was this? "Mulder?"

He looked up from whatever he was reading. God, he looked adorable in those reading glasses. Dana forced the thought down. Whatever this was, it had to do with the case, so it was time to be professional again. Never mind that she was sitting on their bed wearing only a towel, a bed where just a little while ago they had... Stop that right now, Dana Katherine. Lustful thoughts would just have to wait for later.

"I had a hunch there was something strange about this case, so before we left D.C., I arranged to have the first four victims' property analyzed," he said. "It seems the analysis found trace amounts of a gas that shouldn't have been there."

"Neon," she said. It wasn't a question.

"That's right, but only in the area of the trauma for each victim and in whatever gambling paraphernalia the victim was carrying. I'm willing to bet that if the bodies were still available for analysis, you'd also find traces of neon within the damaged tissue, just like you did with Mr. Harris."

Dana sorted through the papers on the bed, reading the analysis report for each piece of property - gaming chips, marked cards, magnets, and plain old U.S. currency. Mulder was right. Each analysis revealed trace amounts of neon fused within the material. So did each victim's clothing, but only near the trauma sites. "Mulder, this isn't possible."

"You have the scientific proof right in front of you, Scully," Mulder replied. "Something out of the ordinary happened to these objects."

Why did this not surprise her? "And you have a theory?"

Mulder gestured at the report he was holding. "Upon closer examination, these particular items were found to have some minor structural anomalies on a molecular level. I believe that perhaps the reason we haven't been able to locate a murder weapon in any of these crimes is because the weapons were hiding in plain sight the whole time."

Dana shook her head in disbelief. "Are you suggesting these men were murdered with betting chips, playing cards, a magnet, and US currency?"

This was too far fetched even for Mulder.

"No, of course not," he replied. "At least not in their present form."

Oh, boy, here it comes. Dana braced herself for what she assumed would be the Fox Mulder stranger than fiction theory of the week. She dreaded this, but she knew he would wait patiently until she broke down and asked.

"And what other form do you think they might they have been in, Mulder?"

"Like I said," he continued, "A more in depth study revealed unexplained alterations in these objects' molecular structure as though they had been acted upon from some unknown, outside influence. I haven't figured out how or why yet, but I will."

Dana reached for the report he'd been reading and he handed it to her without comment. "I'm almost afraid to ask," she said, scanning the first page. "But who performed this in depth study? I know for a fact no such tests were performed here." Mulder had made the connection from studying the reports and scheduled the arrangements before they even left D.C. He'd been a busy boy. The man never ceased to amaze her.

"The Lone Gunmen," he mumbled through his fingers.

Raising her eyes from the report, she took her right hand and tugged his fingers away from his mouth.

"Now, who did you say these experts were?" she demanded quietly.

"I said, I had some of the personal items found on the bodies sent to the Lone Gunmen."

"Mulder!" She slapped the papers down on the bed. "How exactly are we going to document this in our report? Not to mention preserve the chain of custody on the evidence you sent them?"

"Look, we need answers, the faster the better before more people die," he defended himself. "Byers has a confidential list of experts in just about every field you can imagine -- and some you probably can't. I've used them successfully in the past. They're quick, reliable, trustworthy, and don't ask necessary questions."

She still didn't look convinced, but at least she'd picked up the report and was scanning through the results again.

"Dana, I know some of these people and they are all highly respected in their fields of expertise. They're just a little wary of letting their op en-mindedness be public knowledge."

"Gee, I wonder why?" she remarked.

"Besides, you know if the guys trust them, you can bet that they're on the up and up," he added as a last ditch effort to convince her of the legitimacy of the reports.

"But Mulder, if this list is so confidential, how do you know who's on it?"

It was a logical and fair question and she was entitled to an answer.

Because if what he thought was happening really was happening, it was going to take a whole lot of trust and faith in him for her to believe this one. Trouble was, there was no logical answer for him to give her. "They trust me," he stated with basic simplicity.

Dana gave him an almost imperceptible nod and marveled at the fact that it probably never occurred to him that someone wouldn't trust him. "So what did these experts tell you that you're afraid to tell me?"

Mulder took a deep breath. He had to proceed carefully on this one or she'd eat him for dinner. Not all together an unpleasant thought, since they'd nearly done that an hour or so earlier. Get your mind out of the gutter, pervert. There's a time and a place for everything and this isn't it.

"Scully, have you ever heard of the Kingsington Project?" he asked softly.

A moment's silence passed between them as she tried to recall the name.

"No, can't say that I have, but then you and I didn't always travel in the same circles so I might have missed it."

An uncustomary uneasiness settled around Mulder's features like a shroud.

He silently debated whether or not to include her in the very small circle of people who knew of this project's existence. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. Lord knows she was privy to an ungodly amount of sensitive knowledge that in the wrong hands could have possible catastrophic results. He lovedher and trusted her explicitly even with his life. So what was one more dirty, little secret? Maybe one secret too many. Maybe the secret that could forfeit her life and the life of their child. Where did he draw the line on what she should know? Did he have that right? Who was he to decide what truths should be known and what truths shouldn't. If he denied the truth to another human being, was he not just as guilty as the unscrupulous men he had grown to despise in his own search for truth?

Dana felt his conflict and saw an the inner turmoil echo through dark hazel pools. There was so much of him trapped inside, so much she would never know. Mulder often had unrealistic expectations of himself and it was up to her to remind him on a daily basis that he was human, and entitled to the unending intrinsic variety of foibles that the title carried with it. He accepted and carried more responsibility than any one man could be expected to endure and there were times when she'd feared he'd collapse under its weight. She had to make him understand that she was here to share that burden, willingly and with the same passion she'd seen in him. He was a part of her and his battles were her own. "Tell me about this project, Fox," she said softly.

Mulder sighed and brushed his bangs from his eyes. "The Kingsington Project consisted of Top Secret experiments involving the alteration of matter on its most basic level. It was rumored that this technology did not originate locally, that it was borrowed information from, shall we say, unwilling visitors."

He waited for the raised eyebrow and look of barely leashed skepticism that would undoubtably stare back at him any moment. Yep, there it was, a silver voice echoed in his head as he received the expected reaction. Well, you're safe so far -- doesn't look like she's called the men in white yet so it was safe to continue. "The first mention of this line of research was in several top secret documents dating back to the late 1940's.

Documentation has continued on an irregular basis since then until recently.

A flurry of newly leaked information has turned up in the last couple of months along with several games of musical labs. The guys with the secret decoder rings are getting antsy and several of my scientific contacts have been scrambled to unknown locations. Some of those locations are rumored to be in the Nevada desert."

"Area 51?" she asked.

"Maybe. But that's not the only military installation in Nevada," he paused and gazed at the sheer-covered window. The neon lights from outside their room lit up the gauzy material. "Something's gone wrong, Dana, and I think maybe these murders have something to do with it."

"Mulder," she said soothingly. "We have some unusual deaths, some incons istencies, some unconventional test results, and a lot of unanswered questions. That does not necessarily spell government conspiracy or mad scientists with an attitude. You know I would never rule out your instincts and I'll consider your theory, but at this point I refuse to put out an APB on Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde."

Mulder considered her mischievous face and chuckled. "God, I certainly hope not," he sputtered as his unflattering reflection stared back at him the mirrored closet doors. "If you did, they'd take one look at this mug and I'd probably be doing ten to twenty in the local slammer."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time that I've had to bail you out of the clink," she reminded him.

A running log of the various holding facilities in which he'd been incarcerated flashed quickly through his mind. Why was it that people always made such a big deal about his eidetic memory? It was times like this that he firmly believed that all women had this capability, selectively and in varying degrees, depending of course on how long you'd known them and how often you'd had the misfortune of fucking up in their presence. "Probably won't be the last time either. At least on this occasion I had company," he commented with a insufferable smirk. "And it wasn't even my fault."

Dana contemplated several retorts to this statement but in the interest of peace and harmony, not to mention getting a good night's sleep, refrained from using any of them. Instead she picked up the room service menu. "I'm starving," she said, deftly changing the topic. "Let's order room service and finish sorting through these reports, ok?"

"Worked up an appetite, eh?" Mulder teased.

"Mmmm," she agreed. Suddenly a thought struck her. She picked up the manilla envelope. No postage. "Mulder, how did you get this?"

He smiled at her. "Frohike delivered it in person."

"You mean..."

"You got it. The Lone Gunmen are loose in the Biggest Little City in the World," Mulder said, confirming her worst suspicions.

"Heaven help us," she muttered.

Chapter 12 a Fish by ANY Other Name

Elsewhere

Well, the butt chewing they'd expected had commenced on schedule. And shortly thereafter they'd been set up in their current location, deftly swapping places with the people who originally worked in this place. The humans were safe in their sleep cocoons and wouldn't remember a thing when this was all over. Johnny just wished he could say the same for himself.

They'd managed to track the prototype from the desert to this bright and noisy place, thanks to his partner's unique abilities. As unpleasant and loud as it was, Johnny Walker seriously considered staying on this backwater planet for good just to avoid his unsympathetic superior.

Tia Maria placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed affectionately as she read his thoughts. She shook her head in agreement. Emotional ties between partners was strongly discouraged. However, they had admitted long ago that outwardly denying what they both knew existed didn't change the reality of what they felt. Still -- touching in public was risky and they dared only do it here, where none other of their kind could observe.

"The prototype is near," Tia said. "It appears to have found a compatible host."

Johnny turned to her abruptly. "The others?" he asked in alarm.

"No," she replied soothingly. "The others are not compatible. They would require a conduit -- an interpreter, for they are too different to link with the prototype directly."

"When did you begin to sense its presence?" he asked.

Tia bowed her head. "Earlier this afternoon I felt the intelligence flare briefly like a nova then diminish into darkness," she whispered softly. Her dark eyes raised to find his face, worry clear in their obsidian pools. "Its memory core has been damaged. It is --- searching, searching for home."

"You said it has found a host. How can this be?" Johnny asked. "The others cannot link, we know this. We are the only ones from the collective who were sent to locate it, are we not? And were we not told that the being native to this world lacked the reqired memory capacity and discipline to accommodate and access its knowledge and power?"

"Johnny, surely you know that in any given population there are genetic a berrations. Even in these backward people there are a few rare individuals with the mental capability that might allow the possibility of a link. Perhaps the prototype has found one of them."

Pacing with agitation, Johnny stared worriedly into her cool, dark eyes.

"We have to find it. We have to find it soon. If what you say is true, the sum of all our knowledge, the essence of all that we are, our history, technology, and our very souls is now linked with the mind of a being who has no idea of the power he possesses. In the hands of an untrained individual the prototype could reek havoc. What if the host is unethical and unworthy?"

"We have to believe that it isn't," Tia said, trying to soothe him.

But Johnny refused to be soothed. "According to our own law, for our legacy to be returned to us, it must be relinquished willingly with the full knowledge of what has been sacrificed. Tia, we have existed in this place for some time now. After in depth observation and evaluation of this species, can you honestly tell me that the chances of the prototype linking with an acceptable human being -- if there is such a thing -- are promising?"

Tia sighed deeply. "Unfortunately, no, I cannot. There is a good side to this, though." She smiled. "When the prototype is communing, I am able to pick up on the thought exchanges and track them, hopefully to the source."

"What is the bad side?" Johnny asked, anxiety shining in his clear, violet eyes.

"The others, along with the unscrupulous factions of this country's government, will eventually discover what we already know. They will use every resource available to them to hunt down the host and extract the prototype for the power it would give them, regardless of the damage they would cause to the host if such a procedure were conducted improperly."

Johnny looked grim. "Then we have no alternative but to find them both first," he reached over and flipped the small sign in the door over to "closed" and turned out the lights.

Red Sands Hotel
Room 1121

"Mulder?" He heard the whisper in his ear, her breath tickling the tiny hairs within. Maybe he'd imagined it... He buried his head deeper in his pillow.

"Fox?" the voice was insistent.

Firm, erect breasts pressed into his back as a small, searching hand snaked its way around his waist. Stroking his abdomen lightly with her fingertips, she let her hand drop slightly, a motion that sent shivers through his body like a blast of arctic air.

"Fox, wake up," she purred.

Mulder opened one eye and squinted at the red digital display blinking on and off from its perch on the night stand. He really hated that fucking travel alarm. 1:00 AM> One AM?? He was just about to inquire what in the hell she wanted at one o'clock in the morning when his question was answered by a soft, wet tongue traveling right down the center of his back.

Oh God... again?!? He enjoyed making love as much as the next guy, maybe even more so since he'd had to make up for lost time, but five times in a seven hour period would be enough for any man -- why wasn't it enough for her? I mean a guy's gotta sleep... sometime.

"Mulder, come on, wake up," she muttered urgently, moving under the covers next to him.

"Hmmm..." he mumbled. A familiar tingle was rippling through his nervous system as sensuous lips caressed and massaged the firm yet delicate skin of his left butt cheek.

When it appeared obvious to her that he wasn't going to respond to her method of waking him, she leaned in, grabbed a small amount of flesh between her teeth and nipped him soundly.

"OW!!" he sputtered, jerking a little too suddenly. Shit, he thought, he would never be able to utter the phrases "kiss my ass" and "bite me" the same way again. He just wouldn't be able to pull off the expected level of vehemence necessary to imply a royally pissed off attitude.

Hazel eyes flew open and he winced at an unexpected cramp in his shoulder blades. "What the...?" Oh yeah, he thought sheepishly. Mental note: always remove the cuffs before falling asleep. "What?" he finally found enough of his voice to whine.

Silently she slid her foot up his long leg and rested it snuggly between his thighs. Oh God, the woman has amazing toes. He gasped out loud and experienced a hormonal surge in spite of himself. "Dana," he managed to wheeze out from between clenched teeth.

"Yes?" she inquired while running her fingernails slowly over his torso and flicking his earlobe with the tip of her tongue.

He trembled involuntarily and attempted to say something that resembled coherent speech. "Cuffs," he finally whimpered.

Dana had nearly forgotten that she'd cuffed him to the bed post last time.

She sure didn't mean to let him fall asleep in that position. Now, where in the hell did she put that key? Oh right, night stand, top drawer. Gingerly she slid over him and retrieved the key from the night stand, all the while debating whether or not she truly wanted to release him.

Mulder, seeing her hesitation, gave her a warning glare. "Dana..." he growled playfully.

"Okay, okay, it was just a thought," she chuckled.

Bringing her left leg over his body she rested her knee on the bed and straddled his waist as she reached up and unlocked his bonds, then quickly bent down and kissed the tip of his nose.

Mulder felt his arms drop to the bed as if they were heavy, dead clumps of meat. "I can't feel my arms," he groaned with an exaggerated pout.

A sly smile lit up Dana's face and mischief sparkled like multifaceted diamonds in her eyes. "You won't need to." Without further warning, she ducked under the covers. True to her word, he didn't need to feel his arms once as she quickly sent him tumbling over the edge.

Well, well, she thought, happily remembering the conversation she'd overheard earlier in the church hallway. Good old Aunt Carol was right on several counts, she mused. Number one: Fox was hung like a "fookin' Clydesdale" (something she already knew) and number two: If he had the inclination (and apparently even if he didn't), with the proper stimulation, her loving hubby was quite capable of performing on demand, and she intended to be one demanding wife.

This did present some intriguing, extreme possibilities. Before Mulder she'd never gotten it more than twice in one night and the second time around had usually been more work than pleasure. With Fox it had always been so damn easy, and she could never once remember leaving his arms unsatisfied.

As one last powerful surge shook his body, Dana crawled from beneath the covers to mold herself to the warmth of his flesh and revel in his unique scent -- a heady mixture of musk, sweat, and ivory soap. (Hey, look Scully, it floats! Ok, so he had a thing for floating soap.) She listened contentedly while his heart and breathing eased into a normal, lazy rhythm, then smiled with satisfaction as two strong yet gentle, masculine arms enfolded protectively around her.

"I love you," he murmured into her hair. "I can refuse you nothing," he added sincerely.

"Then I'll try never to ask you for the impossible," she replied.

He planted a small kiss on her forehead then let his head drop back into the pillows as heavy lidded eyes closed in pleasant exhaustion. It wasn't long before he dropped off into a deep sleep.

"Fox?" the velvety voice invaded his strange dreams. It's not real...ignore it... it'll go away.

"Fox!!" The voice grew more demanding.

Dana? Jesus, had he overslept again? Nudging the sleep from his eyes, he reluctantly peered at the stupid alarm clock again and the numbers 2:30 AM burned their way into his brain. Sleep... I just wanna go back to Sleep. His eyes drooped shut and his mouth fell open slightly, allowing a soft snore to escape.

"Mulder... I'm sorry. Mulder, wake up!!" Her voice prodded at his consciousness along with two small hands which gently shook his shoulders.

"Hrmmgh," he growled in a low, male, animalistic grunt as he pulled the pillow down over his head and curled into a fetal position around the sheets.

"Fox, please," she pleaded. "I need you to wake up."